My Sweet Prince
by Herr Sten
Summary: It’s been four years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy has resided to a quiet, lonely life in muggle London. Of course, Harry Potter is bound to come around and stir things up… HP/DM, EWE. Slash - don't like, don't read!
1. Prologue

**Prologue – Poor little rich boy  
**

_Never thought you'd make me perspire_

_Never thought I'd do you the same_

_Never thought I'd fill with desire_

_Never thought I'd feel so ashamed_

**Placebo - My Sweet Prince**

The clock had since long passed midnight, and the streets of the shabby neighbourhood lay deserted in the cool night. The few streetlights that still worked were illuminating the empty pavements with a soft, ghastly glow, and the untidy windows belonging to the cheap flats stood empty and dark.  
All except for one.

The small kitchen of number five was dimly lit by a nearly extinguished candle, and at the kitchen table, with his eyes fixed at the flickering flame, sat a man curled up with a blanket over his lap and a large cup of tea in his hands. Without taking his eyes of the candle, the man took a large gulp emptying the cup, and then gently placed it on the table in front of him. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself for protection against the biting cold.

Draco Malfoy had never imagined that he one day might have to settle for anything less than the luxurious standard of Malfoy Manor, but on the other hand, not much had ended up the way he had expected. He tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes, and then carefully moved the burning candle aside to reach the pile of newspapers it had been balancing on. He glanced down at the well-thumbed front page of the paper on top of the pile, and, once again, saw a familiar, spectacled face. The man on the front page was frowning; the eyes behind his glasses looked distressed and his mouth was formed into a thin line. Draco didn't even need to scan the paper for the headline; he already knew too well what it said.

_The boy who lived in scandalous divorce._

A picture of the redheaded Ginny Weasley accompanied by a tall, handsome stranger could be found further down on the page, but to Draco, she was completely uninteresting.

For him, it all seemed to be about Potter.

Since the war had ended four years ago, Draco had taken to the inconvenient habit of excitedly following every single article concerning Potter. An incredibly bitter sort of hobby, of course, constantly reading about the success of the wizarding worlds favourite hero, his own arch rival… the man who (at least in Dracos opinion) had ruined his entire family.

Even though Potter had bore witness about how Narcissa had helped him during the final battle at Hogwarts, there had been no salvation for neither her nor Lucius. They had both been sentenced to lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban as soon as the protection of the wizarding prison had been reinstated. As for Draco, the Wizengamot had concluded that he was too young to be held responsible for his actions, and therefore, he was free.

Free, but at what cost?

The manor and all of his family heirlooms had been confiscated by the ministry, and Draco had been left all alone, without any money and nowhere to go. He was despised by the entire wizarding community because of a name that earlier had been pronounced with respect and admiration, and thanks to Potter, he didn't even have a wand anymore. He had moved to London and taken a job at a shabby muggle pub in the same neighbourhood as the flat he rented. The salary barely paid for rent, but for a man who in the muggle world lacked both education and connections, it was the best he could hope for. The only link left between him and his old world was the The Daily Prophet which he so diligently read.

In time, the characteristics of the articles slowly started to change. Potters private life had been thoroughly surveyed by The Prophet ever since the war ended, and in the beginning they had all reported about his quickly ascending career at the Auror's Office and the development of his marriage with Ginny Weasley. The articles were filled with speculations of how long it would take for Potter to become Head of the Aurors and stories about how the happy couple soon were expected to become parents. Everything, _everything_, seemed to go Potters way. And each day, Draco exposed himself to the enormously bitter self-torture, the knowledge of the success of his rival, when he himself sat shut up inside the cold, dark flat. He hadn't been able to pay for electricity in months, and without magic the long, cold nights were nearly unbearable.

But suddenly, The Prophet started to report about completely different things in Potters life. Slowly, through hours of intense reading in the faint light of a candle, Draco watched the surface of Potters perfect existence starting to shatter.

The Potters never had a baby. The Prophet reported of miscarriage after miscarriage, constantly publishing new interviews with sources supposedly close to the Potters who claimed to be able to tell exactly how devastated the couple were. Of course, Potter himself hadn't dignified the paper with a comment.

The Prophet feasted upon Potters misery, just as Draco did. He read more and more articles about the shattering marriage, reports about Potter refusing to even leave his house, and finally an article about Potter not only turning down the Head of Aurors post, but resigning from his current job as well.

The reactions following these news were immediate. People seemed to think that Potter was betraying his duty to the wizarding society - if he wasn't there to protect them, who would? Even with Voldemort long gone, Potter was still everybody's favourite icon, the poster boy of the constant struggle against the dark arts. Naturally, their hero had to be ready to once again save the world, should it need to be saved?

And then, four months ago, the deathblow; Potter divorcing Weasley. Weasley having an affair with another man. Potter leaving his home in Hogsmeade for a flat in London.

The Prophet had been oddly quiet about Potter ever since. Draco strongly suspected it was because there simply wasn't anything more to report – Potter had retreated, he no longer did anything worth writing about.

In pace with the articles of Potter appearing more and more infrequently, Draco had lost his interest for the papers. He had read every article, every tiny little notice about his nemesis to a decree that he had almost felt like a part of Potters life. When the Prophet had lost their interest and stopped writing, in some bizarre way, Draco felt like he had lost a friend. He laughed a humourless laugh at the thought.

Like he had lost his_ only_ friend.

Day after day, paper after paper, article after article… with delight mingled with terror, he had watched Potters life fall in to pieces, just like his own life had. It had been pure malice, and in his own misery, that feeling had been an appreciated feature. He _missed _it.

The thought of Draco Malfoy ever _missing_ Harry Potter… it was so wickedly twisted that he had to snort to himself. After all these years of desperately wishing Potter would disappear from the surface of the earth…

Oh, the irony.


	2. Between enemies

**Chapter 1 – Between enemies**

"Malfoy, move it! Get down to the storage, you've got some heavy lifting to do!"

Draco vinced when the rough voice broke the comfortable silence in which he had spent the last half-hour cleaning the sturdy wooden tables. He turned around and was met by the stern gaze of Mr Barnes, the owner of the pub where Draco worked. Draco sighed and threw away the dirty rag he was holding.

"Of course, Mr Barnes".

Mr Barnes still kept his eyes fixed on Draco, so he hurried down the steep, spiralling staircase that lead down to the pub's storage. With some effort he grabbed one crate containing the bottles of beer that Mr Barnes wanted him to carry upstairs in each hand, before struggling himself upstairs. Panting from the exertion, he dropped the crates on the floor, attempting to take a short break to catch his breath. However, he was immediately interrupted by Mr Barnes's mocking voice.

"Tired, _Draco_?" He dragged out the name, as though it was an incredibly amusing joke. "You don't have all day, you know".

If Draco had been in possession of his wand, he probably would have hexed Mr Barnes senseless. Given the current situation though, he only gave his boss a small nod before walking down the staircase once more.

A stronger man would not have had the slightest bit of problem with the crates, but for Draco, it was a complete nightmare. Not having eaten a real meal in ages, he had lost several pounds since his days at Hogwarts, not even to mention his former Quidditch-muscles.

In other words, the heavy chore took Draco twice as long to perform than if Mr Barnes would have asked Jones or Peters to do it in his place. They were both two of Draco's more muscular colleagues, also available at the pub that day. But that was just how Mr Barnes worked - he liked to see Draco suffer.

Carrying the last crates, Draco thought bitterly that this probably must have been how Potter had felt during all of the Potions lessons with professor Snape. Smiling scornfully at the thought, he was just about to step up into the pub again when he a familiar voice cut through the air.

"... Draco Malfoy here?"

Draco stopped dead in his steps. The weight of the both crates made his arms ache, but in spite of the pain, he couldn't make himself go any further.

He couldn't be mistaken on that voice.

He couldn't be mistaken on _Harry Potters_ voice.

"Oh, you mean blondie"? Draco recognized the rough voice as belonging to Jones. "I bet he's down in the cellar, just a second". There was the sharp noise of a chair scraping against the floor, and the next moment, Jones called out:

"Malfoy, you have a visitor!"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but no sound left his lips. What the hell was Potter playing at?

"That's odd, I could have sworn I saw him just ten minutes ago…" Jones sounded confused. "Maybe he went on an errand or something"

"That's OK" Potter said hurriedly. "I'll just sit here and wait until he gets back." Another scraping noise – obviously, Potter wasn't joking about the waiting part. Draco's feet finally decided to obey him, but instead of walking up into the pub, he turned around and hurried back down to the storage. He let go of the crates and sank down on the floor, leaning against the cold brick wall trying to collect his thoughts. His knees were shaking uncontrollably and his heart pounded frantically in his chest – for some reason, breathing was suddenly very difficult. Draco hadn't seen Potter in person since that devastating night at Hogwarts.

He shivered slightly – he still didn't like to think about the events taking place in the Room of Requirement that had cost him so much.

He still didn't like to think about how Potter had saved his life.

Heavy steps on the staircase interrupted his thoughts, and in the next second, Jones stood before him, frowning.

"What are you doing down here, Malfoy? Didn't you hear me calling?" He sounded suspicious, and Draco could understand why. It was probably a bit startling, finding one of your colleagues hiding in the storage room.

"Nothing" Draco said a little too quickly, and leapt to his feet. "I was just… resting, a bit. Heavy crates, you know…" He trailed off, giving Jones a weak smile.

"There's a bloke up there who wants to see you" Jones said, still eyeing Draco suspiciously. "You should go, I'll take these."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but soon realized he didn't have a proper excuse _not_ to go upstairs. Instead, he gave Jones what he hoped looked like a grateful smile, and stepped up into the pub once again.

Potter was sitting with his back turned against the staircase – he didn't seem to have heard Draco coming up. For a moment, Draco seriously considered his chances of escaping. With some luck, maybe he could sneak out the door before Potter noticed? He shook his head in an attempt to resist the alluring thought - better to get this over with right away.

"Planning on ordering something, Potter?" he asked coolly, and Potter immediately turned around. He looked different from the pictures in the papers – Draco couldn't quite put his finger on how, though. The dark hair stood in all directions as usual, the glasses were in place and the green eyes behind them bore into Dracos with the same intensity they always did when Potter was angry with him.

Only he _didn't_ look angry, Draco noticed. There was something else hidden behind the gaze, something Draco didn't recognize, something that made him oddly uncomfortable.

"Malfoy" Potter said shortly and gave Draco a polite nod.

"Nobody sits without drinking in this pub," Draco said, still trying to keep his voice as cold as possible. "What do you want to order?"

For a moment, Potter seemed taken aback by Draco's unwelcoming attitude, but he collected himself quickly.

"Just some mineral water, thank you." He had the sense to pay in pounds instead of galleons, and when Draco had served him the drink, Potter gesticulated for him to sit down. Draco hesitated for a moment – of course, he could just refuse, couldn't he? He could just turn around and leave Potter sitting at the table, and they would never have to speak to each other again.

Of course, then he would never know why Potter had came to speak to him in the first place… curiosity got the better of him, so he dragged out a chair and sat down next to Potter, not looking at him.

"Surprised to see me, I take it?" Potters voice sounded mocking, and Draco felt the same crawling sensation under his skin as he always did when something about Potter really annoyed him.

This was an awful idea. Damn his curiosity.

"Obviously" he snarled, and steeled himself to meet Potters eyes. "Spill, Potter. What do you want?"

Potter seemed to hesitate for a while, his gaze flickering across the room before staring into Draco's grey irises once more. He shook his head as though attempting to get rid of an inconvenient thought before reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a wand.

Instinctively Draco pulled back, convinced that Potter would try to hex him, but the other man just simply lay the wand in front of him on the table, studying Dracos face intently.

And suddenly, Draco recognized it.

_His_ wand.

Suddenly, his mouth felt very dry.

"I thought you… " Draco whispered after a few moments of silence, staring at the wand in astonishment, unable to finish the sentence. For some reason, he couldn't manage to reach out and grab it.

"I was planning on handing it back sooner," Potter said, suddenly sounding insecure. "I didn't mean to hold on to it, really… but… well, you disappeared, and…" His voice trailed off, and Draco couldn't bring himself to say something either. They sat there in silence for a few minutes - the wand seemed to have created an invisible barrier between them, one that simple insults couldn't penetrate. And quite frankly, Draco didn't really know how to speak to Potter _without_ trying to insult him.

Finally, Draco's arm responded to him again, and he reached out and closed his fingers around his wand. The smooth wooden handle felt familiar in his hand, and he had to restrain himself from trying to do magic – after all, Mr Barnes might very well be lurking behind a corner.

He chanced a glance at Potter, who was looking at him with a curious expression on his face.

"Thank you" he said quickly in a low voice, half hoping Potter wouldn't hear him – God forbid anyone would ever hear Draco Malfoy _thanking_ Harry Potter.

To his great amazement, Potter didn't retort with a snide remark on Draco's humiliation. Instead he actually gave Draco a smile that almost looked sincere.

"I'm surprised you're not trying to kill me for not returning it sooner, actually" he said, sounding rather amused. "It's been what, three years? You must be furious."

"Four" Draco replied. "And I never expected you to return it at all" Instantly, the smile vanished from Potters face, and a small crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"When do you get off?" he asked, an unreadable expression in his eyes

"What?"

"Work. At what time do you get off?" He continued to look at Draco, who couldn't bring himself to meet the gaze.

"I'm closing up tonight, so around two o' clock" Draco shrugged, eyes fixed at the table. "Maybe an hour longer. Why?"

Potter didn't answer him, but he pulled out his chair and stood up.

"Good" he said thoughtfully, pushing the chair back in under the table. "Good."

Without another word, he turned on the spot and hurried out from the pub, leaving a very confused Draco Malfoy behind.

-------------

It was a stressful night at the pub – all of the tables were full and some of the guests had stationed themselves permanently at the bar, constantly screaming for more drinks. Mr Barnes had left Draco alone in charge, and he had a hard time to keep up with all of his thirsty customers. The bright side of this was that by keeping himself busy, Draco had been able to repress all thoughts of Harry Potter.

Until he walked through the door, of course.

Potter was casually dressed in a red, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark jeans; an outfit that Draco reluctantly had to admit became him very well. It was a bit weird that he didn't have a coat, though - it was freezing outside.

Potter scanned the pub for a moment, and when he spotted Draco behind the bar he nodded in acknowledgement and started making his way through to the crowded room towards the counter.

"I'm busy Potter" Draco said shortly when Potter finally had made it through to him, having knocked over a few of Draco's customers in the process. "Some of us have a job to tend to, you know."

"Always the charmer, Malfoy" Potter greeted him with a wry smile. When Draco didn't answer and started to turn his back from him, he added quickly:

"A beer, please."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless opened a bottle for Potter and handed it to him - after all, it was his job.

"Nobody sits without drinking" Potter repeated, and raised the bottle in a toast. "Cheers, Malfoy!"

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away from Potter to serve a glass of scotch to a woman at the far end of the counter. By the time he was back, Potter had already finished his beer and was signalling for another one.

"_Thirsty_, Potter?" Draco scorned, and Potter gave him a poisonous look. Dutifully, Draco gave him another one, and Potter practically tore it from his hand.

"You've always been a pain Potter, but what did I do this time?" Draco asked conversationally. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I'm just here grabbing a few drinks, that's all" Potter muttered angrily, not looking at Draco. "All I need for you to do is to keep the bottles coming. Can you do that?" Draco gave him a murderous glare, but was relieved that Potter no longer seemed interested in speaking to him, at least as long as a refill of his beer wasn't concerned.

When the clock struck half past one, the pub was almost empty apart from a woman sitting alone at a table with her gaze lowered down her drinking glass, and from Potter, lying across the counter with a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. If it was his tenth or eleventh for the night, Draco had forgotten.

"Malfoy" Potter muttered suddenly, seemingly speaking more to the bottle than to Draco. "_Draco_ Malfoy… that's such a silly name."

He tore his gaze from the bottle and looked around the pub with a confused expression, as though he had not been aware of his location until now. His hazy eyes stopped at Draco, and he peered at the blonde with a vacant expression.

"Why did they name you Draco anyway?" he slurred loudly enough for the lonely woman at the door to look up at him with a curious expression.

"Means dragon" Draco heard himself say, even though he wasn't sure why he would tell Potter such a thing. "My father thought it an appropriate name for a Malfoy."

Potter giggled.

"Hagrid had a dragon once" he pronounced even louder than before, causing the woman to look at them with even more interest. "You saw it!"

Potter tilted his head to the side, watching Draco between half-closed eyelids.

"Yeah, I did" Draco admitted. "That idiot… too stupid for his own good…"

Potter didn't seem to have heard the insult on his friend's intelligence – he was far too busy looking at Draco as though he had never seen him before, making Draco extremely uncomfortable.

"What kind of dragon are you, Draco?" Potter asked curiously, the words nearly inaudible since he slurred so much. He yawned and closed his eyes as though he was about to fall asleep, and Draco moaned inwardly. Potter passing out over his counter was the last thing he needed right now. He quickly reached out and grabbed the bootle, which was dangerously close to slip away from Potter's loose grip.

"Hey, we're closing now!" Draco shouted to the woman at the door, and at the same time he attempted to keep Potter from falling down on to the floor. "Come back again tomorrow!"

The woman gave him a scathing look and made a huge affair of collecting all of her things – apparently, she didn't enjoy being thrown out.

"Potter, come on, wake up!" Draco said briskly as the woman disappeared into the cool November night, bringing her glass with her. He slapped Potter across the head with the back of his hand making the other man stir a little, but quickly becoming still again.

"I'm a Swedish shortsnout!" Draco cried out in a desperate attempt to keep Potter awake. "No, wait… I am a Hungarian Horntail, Potter, remember? The Triwizard tournament?"

No response. Draco swore loudly – he couldn't leave Potter in the bar, but at the same time, he had no idea where the idiot lived. He considered the thought of leaving Potter out on the street, but soon realised it was far too cold.

He still didn't know what to do with The Boy Who Was Shamefully Drunk when he had dragged him out on the street and locked the door to the pub behind them.

"Potter? Can you hear me?" Draco shook him urgently, and tried to ignore the fact that Potter had collapsed against his shoulder, his breath sending puffs of warm air across Draco's cheek.

The cold air started to penetrate Draco's clothes, and he realised what he had to do. Wrapping his arm a little more securely around Potters waist, he started to drag him across the street.

-------------

Five minutes later he hauled the unconscious body of the wizarding world's favourite hero across the threshold to the cramped, dark flat he called his home. Well inside, he considered just dropping Potter on the floor of the hall, letting him spend the night there. Potter probably wouldn't even notice, but for some reason, the thought of Potter sleeping at the cold stone floor made Draco more uncomfortable than it should. On the other hand, letting Potter sleep in his own bed wasn't much more tempting.

He gave a resigned sigh when making his decision, dragging Potter towards the combined bed- and living room. Or, at least that's what the estate agent that had showed him the place had claimed that it was. Draco could barely pay for food, there was no way he could afford a sofa, TV or any of the other material things muggles liked to put in their living rooms. There only items of furniture decorating the room was a small bed, a tarnished chest of drawers and a small bedside table in the room, all three of them bought at a second hand-store a few blocks away.

Draco let go of Potter on the bed as gently as his pride justified him to – he _was _a Slytherin after all – and he couldn't help a malicious smile escaping his lips when Potters head thudded loudly against the wall. Pulling out his wand from a pocket, a small wave of excitement shot through his body – finally, he would be able to use it again! Of course, he hadn't learned enough on McGonagall's lessons to conjure another bed out from thin air, but he still remembered some things.

"_Engorgio!_" he muttered pointing his wand at the bed, causing it to expand and making it twice as wide as before. He gave the thin blanket he used to sleep under the same treatment, and after a few more spells, he had turned it into a passable imitation of a duvet.

He pushed Potter as far to the edge of the bed as possible before tentatively laying down on the opposite end himself. He kept his clothes on, of course – as if it wasn't already weird enough sleeping in the same bed as his sworn enemy!

There were no lights in the room, and Draco could barely make out the features of Potters face when glancing in his direction. He did notice Potters glasses though, a little askew on the bridge of his nose. He suppressed a sudden impulse to remove them, snorting to himself. Why would he, anyway? It wasn't like they were friends, or anything even remotely close to it.

Shaking his head at the very idea, Draco closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.


	3. Right back at you

**Author's notes**: Thank you all so much for the reviews and favourites! It's nice to know that you're actually reading this :)  
I would've updated sooner, but I keep second-guessing myself when it comes to my writing. Bear with me!

**Chapter 2 – Right back at you**

Draco woke up early next morning, feeling relieved when he saw that Potter still lay at a safe distance on the other side of the bed. He was pleased to see that Potter slept with his mouth wide open, and that a small pool of drool had taken form on the pillow next to his face. Draco felt very much like mocking the Gryffindor about it, but the thought of waking Potter up was much less tempting – after all, Potter would probably be just as excited as Draco at the idea of the two of them sharing a bed.

He crawled out of the bed and stepped out to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. Unconsciously pouring enough water in the teapot for two, he started rummaging his small pantry for something edible. All he could find was a carton of cereal, its scarce contents rustling ominously at the bottom, and some milk that seemed to have expired a few days ago.

Shrugging, Draco decided it would have to do for breakfast, and without enthusiasm, he shook out the last of the cereal in a bowl and poured the milk over it. He sat down in the lonely chair at the table, staring miserably at the bowl, for some reason not feeling very hungry at all.

"Are you really going to eat that?" Draco jumped at the sound of Potter's voice, and quickly turned around to face his intruder.

Potter looked like hell, a sight that obviously made Draco really pleased. His eyes were red and puffy, his hair looked more like a bird's nest than ever, and his clothes were all ruffled since he had slept in them. Trying to ignore the fact that the part about the clothes probably could be implied on himself as well, Draco gave Potter a scathing look.

"We should order pizza," Potter suggested sleepily, before Draco had a chance to retort. "I think there's a good place right across the…"

"_We_" Draco interrupted with all the contempt he could muster "shouldn't do _anything_. Obviously, you can both stand and walk, so I suggest you locate the door and get the hell out of here."

Potter was quiet for a moment while studying Draco intently. Finally, his face lit up in a malevolent smile.

"No" he said and with a light flick of his wand, he conjured a chair in which he sat down. "No, I don't think so." Sitting there, leaned casually back in the chair with his legs crossed, Potter looked so smug that Draco felt very much like strangling him.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Draco spat, trying to keep his voice steady, not relieving how jealous he was by the magic Potter had just performed. When had he learned to do _that_? Then he remembered – Potter was an ex-auror, after all. Magic like that was probably pretty standard.

"I think I'll stay for a while" Potter explained in a sweet, innocent voice. "We need to talk. Preferably over a slice of pizza."

"Why would I be interested in anything you've got to say?" Draco snarled with what he hoped was a threatening glare.

Potter looked rather surprised.

"You owe me," he said simply. "I gave you your wand back."

"And I dragged your drunken arse half across the neighbourhood last night" Draco glared even more. "Which means we're even, and I don't need to listen to another word from your stupid mouth, so get the…" A light tap on the window interrupted him – an owl carrying today's The Daily Prophet had arrived and was standing on the windowsill, waiting for Draco to let it in.

"You can't afford a proper breakfast, but you're wasting money on _that_ piece of rubbish?" Potter asked incredulously, eyeing the owl with great distaste.

"None of your business, Potter" Draco hissed, leaning forward to open the window. "And as I said, I don't want to…" His voice trailed off when the owl dropped the paper on the table, the front page facing them both. The picture covering almost the whole page was taken under the dim glow of a streetlight, and Draco's stomach twisted when he realised it was a picture of himself and Potter, huddled close together. It looked quite like a muggle photo – if you didn't look very closely, it didn't seem to be moving at all. Potter's face, his eyes half closed, was leaning towards Draco, his lips just a few inches from Draco's cheek. Draco's face was angled towards Potter, his own eyes trying to catch Potter's hazy gaze.

Even though Draco would never have wanted to see himself caught on film so close to a Gryffindor, the picture wasn't nearly as bad as the headline underneath it.

_Potter and Malfoy in unexpected love affair._

For a moment, the world seemed to stop spinning. Draco's eyes shifted from the picture to the headline without really grasping what he was seeing, and it took him several minutes to realize Potter was still in the room with him. Feeling slightly dizzy, he turned and faced Potter, who calmly stared back at him.

"What do you say, Malfoy?" he asked coolly. "Pineapples and extra cheese?"

----------------------------

Twenty minutes later, Potter had managed to fetch a smoking hot pizza from the restaurant across the street, and had seated himself at the table across Draco once more. With a delighted sigh, he grabbed a particularly greasy slice and sank his teeth into it. He shot a quick glance at Draco, who made no attempt to follow his example.

"Aren't you going to eat something?" he asked with mock anxiety. "_Darling_?"

Draco rose so violently from his chair that it flew backwards. Trembling with rage, he drew his wand from his pocket, pointing it directly at Potter's chest.

"Do you think this is _funny_, Potter?" he snarled, searching his mind for an appropriate curse. Potter, however, seemed completely unfazed by Draco's outburst.

"Settle down, Malfoy" he said in a calm, almost bored, tone. "It's not a big…"

"'_Not a big deal'_, is it?" Draco shouted, furious. "Apparently, I forgot who I was talking to. The Prophet hasn't written about you in ages, you must be _dying_ for some attention. Never mind who get's in the way, right? Because you're the sodding _famous_ Harry P…"

"_Shut up, Malfoy_!" Without Draco barely noticing, Potter had hauled up his own wand, holding it in front of Draco's nose. His green eyes bore into Draco's, burning with rage.

"This is so typical of you" Draco snapped. "It's all about you, isn't it? The boy who lived doesn't _need_ to care about other people, right?"

He had expected Potter to hex him, but instead, the other man threw his wand aside and hurled himself at Draco like a hungry predator. Draco felt a fist connect with his nose, and next second, he found himself lying on his back, Potter pinning him against the floor. Draco's head was spinning from the punch as he struggled to break free, but Potter was keeping a firm hold on his wrists.

"Get off me, you idiot!"

"I'm sorry," Potter breathed heavily with an almost regretful look on his face. "I shouldn't have… I'm not going to _fight_ you, Malfoy."

He loosened his grip, and Draco took the opportunity to give Potter a hard push squarely in his chest – not strong enough to make him fall, but sufficient to give Draco the chance to get to his feet and punch Potter in the face.  
"Maybe you're not going to fight _me_", Draco snarled, aiming another punch at Potter, "but I'm sure as hell going to fight _you_!"

Pure idiocy, of course. Potter had been training hard with the Aurors the past few years, and Draco, who was completely out of shape, was obviously no match for him. But Draco didn't even stop to think or care – all he knew was that he wanted to hurt Potter as much as possible. He was furious about the night before, about the article in The Prophet, about _everything_. He was furious that Potter could spontaneously go buy a pizza for breakfast, when Draco had to sit for hours on end trying to get his finances into some sort of order. He was furious about Lucius and Narcissa rotting in Azkaban, furious about his lousy job and absolutely burning with rage about _Potter not fighting back_.

He made another lunge at Potter with his fist, but the other man just simply stepped to the side, avoiding the attack. He looked at Draco with a collected sense of calm, even though he was already bleeding from a cut on his lip.

"I'm not going to fight you," he repeated, dodging another one of Draco's punches. "Listen, Mal… _Draco_. I'm…"

"_Don't call me that_!" Draco's blood was boiling with fury – how _dared_ Potter use his name as though… as though he _knew_ him?

As though he wasn't Harry Potter, but someone else, someone who had earned to call Draco for Draco, and not Malfoy?

Draco was breathing heavily, closing his eyes tightly shut, feeling sick.

"You should go," he said quietly without looking at Potter, sliding back into the chair, massaging his temple with his fingertips as he spoke.

"No" Potter answered. "I mean… I can't," he continued hastily, before Draco had the chance to shout at him again. "Look out the window."

Draco reluctantly stretched a little to see what Potter was talking about, and he groaned loudly at the sight that met him.

The street was crowded with people, undoubtedly journalist, from The Daily Prophet as well as magazines such as The Witch Weekly.

"They showed up while I was getting us pizza," Potter admitted, suddenly looking a bit guilty. "I could barely get back inside, there's no way to get past them again – there's more of them now."

"Apparate" Draco said immediately. Potter's presence made him feel very uneasy – not like during their time at Hogwarts, when every step Potter took had been a constant nail in the eye for Draco. This was something else.

Potter gave a dry laugh, and Draco could feel his gaze burning at the side of his face.

"Why do you think they haven't stormed the flat already? Out of respect?" His tone was bitter. "I've put up some protective enchantments around the place to keep them away. If I apparate, there's nothing stopping them from getting to you."

"Why would you care?" Draco snapped. "I don't need your help."

"I don't leave my friends behind," Potter said simply, causing Draco to give him a murderous look.

"We're not friends."

"The Prophet would beg to differ."

Draco opened his mouth to shout out something rude again, but Potter held up a hand to stop him.

"You know what I mean, Malfoy" Potter's voice vas resolute. "I'm not letting you… bickering won't help us, you know. We should apparate together, go somewhere more private and talk."  
He wiped the blood off his lip and gave Draco a look that clearly stated he wouldn't change his mind in the first place. Draco sighed resignedly.

"If I agree, will you leave me alone?"  
Potters face split into a wide grin, but he didn't answer Draco's question. Instead, he took Draco's hand in his own, hauling him up from the chair. Before Draco could react, Potter had pulled him close and turned on the spot, dragging Draco into darkness.


	4. And I found this boy

**Author's notes:** I'm sorry for the lack of update, everyone! I actually went on vacation for a couple of weeks before I had the chance to upload this. Thank's for your patience, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 3 – And I found this boy**

Draco was gasping for air, the room around him starting to blur into view. It was elegantly appointed, the mocha coloured walls and the parquet flooring giving it a cosy feel. An unmade king-sized bed was stationed at the far corner of the room next to a mahogany bookcase, the latter with its scarce contents scattered across the shelves. Draco looked out one of the wide windows above a comfortable looking leather sofa, and came to a startling realization

"We're still in _London_?" he asked incredulously, hastily stepping away from Potter, who still had his arms wrapped loosely around Draco's waist.

"Well, yeah" Potter answered indifferently. "This is my flat."

Draco couldn't believe his ears.

"Are you really as thick as you look, Potter?" he shouted, quickly closing the curtains over the windows. "Did it ever cross your mind that the reporters probably were watching your place as well?"

"Well, of course I thought of that" Potter snapped. "That's why I didn't take us there."

Draco stared at him, completely nonplussed.

"But you just said…" he hesitated. "Isn't this your flat?"

"One of them" Potter answered irritably. "The contract states that it belongs to a certain Mrs Milburn, though. I've checked, there are no other wizards residing in this particular area, so it's completely Prophet-proof. I go here when I want to be left alone."

"Oh" was all Draco managed to say. This statement was followed by a long, uncomfortable silence in which Potter sank down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands, his breathing heavy.

Draco waited for a few minutes, hoping that Potter soon would come to his senses. Nothing happened, though – Potter just sat there, his exhales becoming more and more ragged. And then, Draco realized…

Potter was _crying_.

The Boy Who Lived was sitting in front of him in his sofa, sobbing uncontrollably, and Draco didn't even feel the slightest urge to laugh at him. This was surreal.

"Hey, Potter" he said gently, tentatively sitting down next to Potter in the sofa. "What's… what's wrong?"  
Oh, that was just _brilliant_. The man was crying his ruddy eyes out, and all Draco could come up with was '_Hey Potter, what's wrong?'_. Real smooth.

"I'm s-sorry, Malfoy" Potter whispered, his voice broken and muffled since his face was still buried. "You can leave… if you want. I shouldn't have…" He trailed off, breaking into sobs that made his whole body shake violently.

"No, no, of course not, Potter!" Draco shouted, desperate to make the crying stop. "I don't want to leave, I'll stay here. It's OK, I promise."

His words didn't seem to soothe Potter as much as he had intended them to do. Instead, Potter started to shake even more ferociously than before, causing Draco to panic. All thoughts about the article in the Prophet evaporated, he reached out and patted Potter cautiously on the back. He quickly regretted this action, though. What was he _doing_?

He stood up again, unsure of what to do next. Luckily, Draco's awkward attempt at consolation seemed to have had some kind of effect. Potter had at least stopped sobbing, and was now looking up at Draco with an odd expression, his cheeks glistening with tears.

"I don't even know why I came back," he said in a low voice. "I was just supposed to give you your wand, and then leave." He paused, looking at Draco more intently.

"I couldn't, though. In a weird way, it was kind of nice to hear you insult me again." He went silent, apparently feeling like he had said too much.

Afraid that Potter would break into tears again, Draco decided it was necessary that he continued the conversation.

"You know you can always count on me when insults are concerned" he said dryly. "I've got quite a few in stock."

Potter smiled wryly, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

"I don't doubt it," he said sardonically. "I'll bet you and your Slytherin pals are going to have a good laugh over _this_, for instance. _Harry Potter, crying like a baby_… classic, huh?"

"We probably would" Draco admitted. "If they were speaking to me."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_. Why would he say something like that to Potter, of all people?

Potter considered him for a moment, and then suddenly stood up from the couch.

"Will you stay?" he asked briskly, his mood completely transformed - he didn't look sad at all anymore. "Just a few hours. We could talk over dinner?"

Draco shrugged. He was already here, wasn't he?

"Yeah, why the hell not? It's not like I can go home, anyway."

"I guess not." Potter's voice was expressionless as he turned away from Draco, throwing his glasses away on the sofa.

And then, _Potter took off his shirt._

"_What the hell are you doing!?_" Draco shouted incredulously, quickly looking away from Potter's all too exposed back.

Potter turned around, looking surprised.

"I'm going to take a shower" he said simply, throwing away the shirt as he spoke. "You should too."

"_I'm not going to jump in the shower with you, Potter!_" Draco snapped, giving Potter a murderous glare.

A dark flush spread across Potter's cheeks.

"I didn't mean… it's… you can take a shower _after _me, that's what I meant!"

"Is this common behaviour from your part?" Draco snarled. "Throwing your clothes off in front of people you barely know?" He tried very hard not to look at Potter's naked torso – it bothered him a lot more than he would like to admit.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" Potter said in a mocking voice, taking one casual step towards Draco who instinctively drew backwards and turned to face the wall. He could hear Potter unzipping his jeans, dropping them to the floor. "I can't be worse than Crabbe or Goyle, can I? You must have seen them in the showers after Quidditch practise all the time."

"I can't recall agreeing to watch a Gryffindor strip right in front of me," Draco muttered coolly, still keeping his gaze fixed at the tapestry.

"Well," Potter chuckled, "if staring at the wall makes you feel… straighter, I guess that's your choice."

Draco twisted his head towards Potter so rapidly he could have sworn he heard something in his neck snap.

"I don't need to feel _straighter_" he spat. "I'm as straight as I can possibly be, thank you very much."

"A bit touchy, aren't we?" Potter teased, edging even closer. Draco suddenly became painfully aware that the other man was wearing nothing but his underpants. Fighting the urge to run away, he stayed rooted on the spot, facing Potter with what he hoped was a look of cool arrogance.

"Even if I were… gay… you don't think _you_ would be enough to attract my attention, do you?"

Potter half-smiled, moving again - he was so close Draco could feel the heat radiating from his body. The Gryffindor leaned forward, his warm breath grazing Draco's cheek as he spoke.

"Then why does this make you so uncomfortable, _Draco_?"

The use of his name made Draco fire up, and he roughly shoved Potter away.

"Pretty cocky for a guy who was sobbing like a little girl just five minutes ago, huh?" he sneered, moving past Potter without looking at him.

"You're such a git, Malfoy."

"Always have been."

Potter didn't say anything else, but exited the room through a doorway that seemed to lead to the flats entrance hall. A door slammed shut and Draco waited a few minutes to be completely sure that Potter had locked himself inside the bathroom before walking through the doorway himself.

The hall was quite small, but the cream white tapestry on the walls made it seem larger than it really was. A clothing rack was placed next to the front door which Draco was facing, a dark trench coat and a couple of shirts similar to the one Potter had worn the previous night the only pieces of clothing hanging from it. A few pairs of shoes were scattered carelessly beneath the rack against the wall – mostly sneakers, but also a pair of sleek looking leather shoes that Draco could have easily pictured himself wearing if he had that kind of money.

There was the unmistakeable sound of sprinkling water from a door on Draco's right – obviously the bathroom. On his left, an open door seemed to lead to the last room of the apartment, a combined kitchen and dining room, which Draco hastily decided to enter. He didn't want to wait in the hall for Potter to come out from the bathroom, and he might as well have a look around.

Potter's kitchen was, like the hall, small and unpretentious with the same shade of white on the wallpaper. A few worktops were lined against the right wall, and a small, wooden table with two chairs were placed in the middle. No dishwasher, Draco noticed - dirty plates and glasses were filling up the sink. Potter was obviously not as good at cleaning spells as he was at conjuring chairs from thin air.

It was clear that Potter only lived here temporarily. The flat seemed empty, in a way – no excess of belongings, no personal artefacts divulging very much about the person living there. It could easily have been a hotel suite.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the unwashed dishes. Well, the flat did reveal _something_ about its owner… Potter was kind of a slob.

Draco's stomach rumbled loudly, and he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to eat his breakfast. Even though Potter's pantry turned out to be almost as empty as Draco's own, there were some eggs and a small lump of cheese of which Draco decided to make a simple omelette. He worked quickly, preparing the ingredients with his wand, and soon, the pleasant smell of cooking filled the kitchen.

"Making yourself comfortable, I see." Draco turned around, and was relieved to see that Potter was properly dressed. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he seemed to have left his glasses behind. He gave Draco a tentative smile.

"Mind making me one as well? We left the pizza at your place…"

Draco simply nodded, and Potter sat down at the table, waiting. Neither of them spoke before Draco had served them both a smoking hot omelette.

"This wasn't really what I had in mind when I said 'dinner'" Potter said as Draco seated himself across the table. "I was about to suggest that we'd order chinese or something like that."

"Nobody's making you eat this, Potter" Draco snapped.

"No… no, that's not what I meant" Potter said hurriedly. "It's nice of you to cook… it's just really unexpected."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Draco started to wish he hadn't let Potter talk him into this. Surely, facing all of those journalists couldn't be _that_ horrible? Maybe he could apparate there right away, to get it over with? Potter probably wouldn't mind either – he must've realised what an awful idea this had been.

"You're really annoying, you know that?" It was Potter who broke the silence. "I mean, _really_ annoying."

"One of my many talents, Potter. Your point?"

"You really get under my skin" Potter continued, frowning. "I don't know why I let you affect me like that, but you just _do_."

Draco didn't know what to make out of this, so he just sat there in silence, waiting for Potter to continue.

"After the war… it was pretty obvious what my future would look like. I became an Auror - that was an appropriate job for a big hero like me, of course. And I married Ginny, because I thought I might love her, and it was convenient enough. Above all, it was expected. In time, I started to realise that I _only _did what other people expected of me. Eventually, I got tired of it."

Draco still didn't know what to say – why would Potter tell _him_ this, of all people?

"You don't expect anything from me" Potter said simply, answering Draco's unspoken question. "I like that. Even though you obviously are the biggest prat to ever walk on the face of the earth."

"But what do you need me for?" Draco objected. "What about your precious Weasley? Or Granger? I can't imagine you having trouble living up to _their_ expectations."

Potter's face darkened.

"We're not exactly on speaking terms" he said grimly.

This puzzled Draco. The infamous trio had been practically inseperable during their years at Hogwarts – what kind of argument could possibly have changed _that_?

"I'm not sure I follow you" Draco said slowly. "Of course they're speaking to you. You're Harry Potter, for crying out loud."

Potter snorted.

"Well, being Harry Potter is not everything it's cracked up to be" he said darkly, and then fell silent.

"I'm still not sure I understand where you're going with this."

"I'm not sure myself" Potter said slowly. "Maybe… I think I'm asking if you want to be friends. Or something."

"Friends?" Draco said sceptically.

"Yeah. Friends." Potter's gaze bore into Draco's own, and he stretched out his hand.

For a moment, Draco almost felt like he was eleven years old again, standing with his hand outstretched towards a skinny little boy with black hair and round glasses that seemed too big for his face. Only now, Potter was offering Draco his hand, asking for _Draco's_ friendship, rather than the other way around.

"This probably isn't the best way to make nice with Weasley and Granger, you know" Draco said finally, avoiding to look at Potter's hand.

"Probably not" Potter agreed. "But what's the point of trying to please them anyway? This is about what _I_ want."

"And you want _me_?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows, allowing himself to smirk.  
Potter blushed a little, but collected himself quickly.

"I want to be friends" he repeated. "Come on, my arm is starting to go numb. How about it?"

Draco sighed. What did he have to lose, anyway? Besides, this could get interesting – provided he didn't strangle Potter out from pure frustration, of course. He slowly closed his own hand around Potter's, meeting the other mans gaze.

"You know this is a horrible idea, right?"

Potter gave him a half-smile as Draco released his hand.

"Whatever you say, Malfoy."


	5. Even if you know me

**Chapter 4 – Even if you know me**

**  
**  
_How I wish you could see the potential_

_The potential of you and me_

_It's like a book elegantly bound_

_But in a language you can't read just yet_

_You got to spend some time, love_

_You got to spend some time with me_

_And I know that you'll find love_

_I will possess your heart_

**Death Cab for Cutie - I will possess your heart**

"Favourite colour?"

"Red."

"No surprises there. Gryffindors are _so_ predictable."

"Whatever, Malfoy. What about yours?_ Green_, perhaps?"

"You underestimate me, Potter. I've always liked blue. Favourite teacher?"

"Umbridge was pretty nice."

"Ha ha."

They were both sitting on a blanket on the floor with a big bowl of popcorn between them, and they had been playing this game for nearly half an hour. So far, Draco had learned, among other things, that Potter's middle name was James, his favourite dessert was treacle tart and that he had wanted to become a librarian when he was younger. Potter grabbed a fistful of popcorn and smiled a little.

"All right, McGonagall then. First kiss?"

Draco snorted, helping himself to some popcorn as well.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before we'd get to these questions."

Potter shrugged.

"Come on, it's not that bad, is it?" he argued. "I'll start, then. Cho Chang, fifth year." He looked very satisfied with himself over this revelation, but Draco just snorted again.

"Oh, come off it, Potter, _everybody_ knew about you and Chang. Coming to think of it, I heard you were so bad she actually _cried._"

Potter seemed horror-struck that his first romantic experience apparently hadn't been as private as he had thought.

"She wasn't crying because of me, she was just sad over Cedric!" he said defensively.

"Oh, so you were taking advantage of her?"

"What? No, I wasn't, it was…"

"Sounds like it to me" Draco interrupted, struggling to hide the malicious smile that treathened to twist his lips. "Now really, Potter, that's not very heroic…"

"Oh, shut up" Potter muttered and threw a handful of popcorn in Draco's direction. "Don't think I've forgotten that you haven't answered yet."

"Yeah, well… since you're so eager to find out…" Draco drawled, rolling his eyes, "it was Millicent Bulstrode, fourth year. At the Yule Ball."

"I thought you went with Pansy?"

"I did" Draco admitted, smirking. "But Pansy just wasn't as… _receptive _as I would have liked her to be. Millicent, on the other hand, was."

"Oh, real nice Malfoy" Potter said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "I bet Pansy almost wet her panties with excitement when she found out that her date abandoned her for a more _receptive_ girl…"

"Well, she didn't seemed to be too bummed about it, seeing as she slept with me a week later."

Potter choked on a mouthful of popcorn, and his face, to Draco's delight, turned into a shade of deepest scarlet as he started to cough hysterically.

"I didn't ask you about that!"

"I know, but I told you anyway, since we're friends now" Draco answered seriously, looking at Potter innocently from under his lashes. "And this is what friends tell each other, right?"

He could barely refrain himself from laughing out loud at Potter's flustered expression. He had forgotten how much fun torturing Gryffindors could be.

"What… how… _fourth year_?" Potter's face started to shift from red to green. "But… that's… you were way to young!" Draco could feel his own cheeks starting to flush.

"It seemed like a good age to _me_" he snapped. "And since when do you care about me losing my virginity anyway?"

"I don't care!" Potter protested. "It's just… I didn't know you were such a _slut_, Malfoy!"

The room fell silent. Potter's mouth was still ajar and his eyes were wide open, a look of shock painted across his face. He seemed just as surprised as Draco over the words that had just slipped past his lips.

"_Slut_, Potter?" Draco's voice was shaking with suppressed laughter. "_Really?_"

"Shut up."

"Well, I was_ very_ promiscuous, I suppose" Draco continued seriously, ignoring the appaled look on Potter's face. "I remember fifth year, Daphne Greengrass _really_ knew how to…"

"Please don't tell me" Potter begged, looking so pale that Draco decided not to push him any further. At least for now.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject

"So, Potter. I think we've stalled enough, don't you?" he said, trying to sound more secure than he really was. "What are we going to do about this?"

Potter's face had started to regain its natural colour, and his expression was completely blank.

"This what?"

"The Prophet, Potter, what else?" Draco exclaimed, giving Potter a scathing look. "I take it you haven't forgotten about their latest infringement on your privacy?"

Potter sighed and shifted a little, twisting his hands in a nervous gesture. Draco glanced down at the entwined fingers and noticed that the nails were all bitten down. He didn't know why, but the fact that Potter was a nail biter was somewhat endearing.

"I'd say we just let it blow over" Potter said, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "You know, lay low for a while. They're bound to forget about us sooner or later."

Somehow, Draco doubted this. The Chosen One hooking up with a Death Eater, a _male_ Death Eater at that, would obviously be too good of a story to be let go of that easily. Potter could obviously sense Draco's scepticism, because he sighed again and leaned forward, looking Draco straight in the eye.

"Trust me, Malfoy, I've dealt with them before" he said reassuringly. "Don't tell me you want to dignify these moronic articles with an answer? Even if you keep denying it, they'll find a way to twist your words into some sort of confession. We'll just have to keep out of their way for a while."

Draco hesitated for a second. There was nothing but honesty hidden beneath the intensity of Potter's gaze – which of course only meant that _he_ believed what he said, not that it was true. Maybe Potter underestimated the journalist? What if they wouldn't give up?

Draco made his decision, and managed to give Potter a half-sincere smile.

"How long is a 'while'?'"

----------------------------

"_Your husband has failed me, Narcissa."_

_The voice that spoke was cold and shrill, sending shivers down Draco's spine. He couldn't bear looking up at the source of that voice, so he kept his eyes fixed at his mother. She was standing on her knees with her head bent down, a curtain of long, blonde hair covering her face. Even though Draco couldn't see her expression, he could tell that she was frightened, and he desperately wished that there was something he could to, someway he could comfort her. It was out of the question, though. There was no comfort for the Malfoys anymore. _

"_I deeply regret it, my Lord" Narcissa answered, her voice trembling slightly. "I pray that my Lord will be mercif…"_

"_Silence!" Voldemort hissed, his eyes blazing scarlet in the eerie light from the torches on the walls. "Crucio!"_

_Narcissa was on the floor, her whole body twitching as though she was a puppet tied to invisible strings held by an unusually vicious master. A haunted scream slipped through her lips, and Draco had to look away – he couldn't stand seeing her hurt like this._

"_Your regrets are nothing compared to what Lucius have lost me, you pathetic woman" Voldemort spat. "I have no mercy for you."_

_From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Voldemort raising his wand again. Narcissa cried out as the curse hit her, and Voldemort laughed, an icy, high pitched laugh that made Draco's stomach twist into knots. He waited for Narcissa's screams to stop before he could bring himself to look at her again. She was lying defeated on the cold stone floor of the Malfoy's cellar, her beautiful hair a tangled mess. Her hand was twitching feebly, and Draco wanted to run over to her, wanted to hold her in his arms and make sure she was okay. _

"_However" Voldemort said, his gaze shifting from Narcissa's broken body to the ocean of black-cloaked figures surrounding him, "there may be one way for the Malfoy's to repay their debt to me." _

_Scarlet eyes found silver ones, and Voldemort smiled viciously. _

"_Step forward, Draco Malfoy."_

Draco woke up with a start, barely suppressing a scream. His body was dripping with sweat and he was breathing heavily, as if he had just been running a marathon.

He blinked hard, trying to focus. It took a while before he realized he was lying on the sofa in Potter's flat. He had fallen asleep on it the previous night, and since he had been sleeping, this would have had to be a dream. His thoughts started to clear up – of course it was all just a dream. It was impossible that all of that would happen again.

It didn't make it seem less real, though.

"Malfoy, are you okay?"

Draco hadn't realized that Potter was there until he spoke. He was crouching on the floor next to the sofa, wand lit in his hand, looking at Draco with a curious expression in his eyes.

Draco sat up straight, his heart beating painfully hard against his chest – he doubted it would ever calm down.

_Just tell him you're fine and you can both go back to sleep._

"I'm scared."

Maybe he was too tired to lie.

"It was just a dream," Potter said quietly, eyeing Draco wearily. "It's not real."

"He was torturing my mother."

Potter was quiet for a while, his eyes wandering to rest on Draco's left forearm. Hesitantly, he stretched out his hand, trailing the shape of the snake with his index finger. Draco flinched, and Potter quickly drew away.

"I'm sorry," he said, blushing slightly. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore" Draco answered, also blushing for some reason. "It's just… no one has ever touched it before. Except for… him."

Potter frowned and averted his gaze from the mark, directing it at Draco's chest instead. His face darkened, and he quickly looked away.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Malfoy."

"You keep saying that" Draco said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "It's not you fault."

"That one is."

At first, Draco didn't know what he meant. Then he looked down at his bare chest, and he realized it immediately - the scar running from just under his left nipple all the way up to his collarbone was painfully visible in the sharp light from Potter's wand.

"Oh." was all he could say.

"I really am sorry" Potter said, sounding tormented. "I had no idea what that spell would do. I never wanted to hurt you like that."

Draco laughed bitterly.

"Well, don't be sorry" he scorned. "I deserved it, didn't I?"

Potter froze.

"No, you didn't".

"Of course I did!" Draco exploded, and Potter drew back a little, looking startled. "I poisoned your best friend! I almost _killed_ that girl Katie Bell_. _I let a bloody werewolf into our schoo_l,_ for crying out loud. Don't you get it? I risked the life of every single student, every single teacher, every single _person_ in that place. People _died _because of me, Potter, so yes, _I deserved all of it_."

They were both silent for a moment, making the sound of Draco's heavy breathing painfully audible. He bit down on his lip hard, struggling to keep the tears that were threatening to fall down his cheeks away.

"You're shaking" Potter said softly after a minute, trying to catch Draco's eye.

"Yeah, well, that's what usually happens when you're cold" Draco snapped, and his voice broke.

Potter stood up and lifted the cover, which Draco probably had kicked away at some point during the night, from the floor.

"Move over" he said firmly, and it didn't even cross Draco's mind to object. He shifted so that Potter could seat himself next to him, and he shivered a little when he felt Potter's warm skin against his own. Strong arms wrapped themselves around him and drew him close, and he hesitantly leaned against Potter's chest, letting the other man enclose them with the cover.

"Better now?" Potter whispered against Draco's hair. Dropping all sense of shame, since he obviously was going to hell anyway, Draco allowed his arm to wrap itself around Potter's waist. He felt warm, and safe, and for a moment, Draco didn't care that this was Harry Potter, whom he had hated with a passion for the past eleven years. All that mattered was that it felt good. That it felt right.

"Much better" he mumbled, shifting his head so that his lips almost touched the hollow of Potter's throat as he spoke. He closed his eyes, slowly starting do drift back into sleep.

"You don't have to be scared, Draco" Potter whispered, sounding just as drowsy as Draco felt. "I'm here."

----------------------------

If Draco hadn't woken up with Potter's arms wrapped around him the next morning, he probably would have thought he had dreamed it all, not just the part about Voldemort and his mother. And if Potter hadn't been so damn warm and comfortable to lean against, he probably would have jumped out of the sofa, throwing a fit over sleeping in the same sofa as another man.

But he _did_ wake up lying in Potter's embrace. And, incidentally, Potter _was_ oddly warm and comfortable. So, Draco kept lying there, enjoying the feel of Potter's arms, holding Draco securely in place. He could always throw a fit later, if necessary.

Potter shifted a little, and for a second, Draco was afraid he would wake up. Surely, Potter would be more reasonable than Draco had been, and throw a fit himself. After all, that would have been the sane thing to do.

Potter did wake up. But, to Draco's great surprise, Potter didn't throw a fit at all – instead, he was acting unnaturally calm. Clearly, he was losing his grip on sanity as well.

Potter's eyes were unfocused and sleepy when his gaze met Draco's, and he smiled hesitantly.

"Good morning" he murmured drowsily. "Did you sleep well?"

Draco hastily freed himself from Potter's arms and sat up straight, turning his head away to keep Potter from seeing the blush that was spreading across his cheeks.

"Sure" he answered, trying to sound indifferent. "If you'll excuse me, I need some tea."

Draco quickly jumped to his feet, drawing the same shirt he had worn since Potter had visited him at the pub over his head.

"Is something wrong?" Potter asked, sounding puzzled.

"No" Draco answered shortly. "I just need to get out of this room. Right now."

He hurried to the kitchen, jumping into his pants on the way. Well there, he didn't even bother with the tea, but just sat down in one of the chairs, burying his head in his hands.

What the hell was going on with him? And more importantly, what the hell was going on with Potter? Normal people just weren't that nice to people they had supposedly hated just a few hours before. And normal people certainly didn't enjoy spending the night in the same sofa as people who had been their sworn enemy for as long as they had known each other. Normal people just didn't _do_ that kind of stuff. And normal people weren't that warm and comfortable either.

Draco was obviously not normal, then. And neither was Potter, but what did that mean? Did it even _have _to mean anything? Maybe this was just normal, as far as unnormal people's behaviour was concerned.

He really needed to get out of his own head.

He pushed out the chair, stood up and turned around, only to collide with Potter, who was standing right behind him.

"Watch where you're going, Potter" he sneered reflexively, receiving an angry glare in return.

"What's your problem, Malfoy?" Potter snapped. "Seriously, why are you acting like this?"

"I'm acting like I always do" Draco snapped back. "I think one of us should."

Potter frowned.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you are obviously not acting like the insufferable git I know you are" Draco heard himself shout, knowing that he probably wasn't making any sense at all. "You know, what with you crawling into bed with me and all. That was kind of insane of you, really, and since _I'm_ not insane, I'm trying to act sane. And the sane thing to do in this situation is to sneer at you, since you're my enemy. So that's what I'm doing. I'm acting sane. You should try it."

Well, there was the fit he had been waiting for. Clearly, getting out of his own head hadn't been such a good idea.

"For a sane person, you're acting strangely _insane_" Potter said dryly. "And it was a sofa, not a bed. You don't have to freak out about this."

"I'm not freaking out" Draco lied stubbornly.

Potter raised his eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Okay, so, what if I am?" Draco cried out. "Freaking out is the sane thing to do, really. You…"

"You don't have to freak out" Potter interrupted him, "because I'm not coming on to you. I'm not… trying to seduce you or anything, so you don't have to worry. I know you're straight, I wouldn't do that."

Potter looked down to the floor, blushing slightly, not realizing he had taken Draco completely off guard.

"You think that's why I'm freaking out?" he said incredulously, suppressing the urge to laugh. "Potter, I know _you're_ straight too. I never thought you were hitting on me. That's stupid, even coming from you."

"Then what is this about?" Potter said, looking completely taken aback. "You were scared and I just wanted to make you feel better. What's the problem?"

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"You did make me feel better," he said quietly. "That's the problem."

Potter frowned again.

"I don't get it."

God, Potter was clearly completely oblivious.

"It felt good" Draco said, trying to choose his words carefully, "when you… _held _me. And it's not supposed to be that way between us. You're not supposed to comfort me when I have nightmares about my time as a Death Eater, and I'm not supposed to like it when you do. You're supposed to hate me for all the things that I've done, you're not supposed to touch my Dark Mark, and you're not supposed to want to be my friend. You're… you're not supposed to act as though you care about me. But you _do_ all of those things, and it's not right, and I can't figure out why..."

He stopped there, all out of breath from speaking too much too quickly. He looked up at Potter, unable to continue.

Potter just looked at him, eyes open and honest.

"I care about my friends," he said finally.

"I'm not your friend."

"You said you wanted to be."

"I want a lot of things. Doesn't mean I'm going to get them."

"Well, you have _me_" Potter said simply, putting emphasis on the last word, eyeing Draco warily. "I'm your friend now, and I care about you. You're a stupid, arrogant git, and I don't get you half the time, but for some reason, I do care. Maybe it's not supposed to be like that, but it is anyway. Everything's not written in stone, Malfoy."

"You've hated me for the past eleven years" Draco objected.

"I don't hate you now."

"Not hating each other doesn't make us friends."

"Point taken." Potter admitted. He considered Draco for a while before adding:

"How do you feel about me, then?"

The question came right out of the blue, and when Draco opened his mouth to answer, he realized he couldn't. A few days ago the answer would have been obvious. Potter had been no more than a self-righteous, annoying, attention-seeking prat with stupid hair and silly glasses. Today, he was the person who had given Draco his wand back, the person who had comforted him after one of his nightmares.

"I don't know yet," he answered truthfully. "It's very disturbing, really. I thought I had you figured out."

Potter smiled, a sincere smile that reached his eyes, and Draco couldn't help smiling back.

"So why can't we leave it at that?" Potter asked. "We're friends who haven't figured out how we feel about each other yet. Isn't that enough for now?"

"Maybe" Draco agreed reluctantly. He realized he didn't want to argue any more.

At least not for now.

Potter smiled again.

"That's settled then," he said, looking satisfied with himself. "So, how about that tea?"


	6. Overkill

**Chapter 5 - Overkill**

Potter was uncharacteristically chatty during breakfast, blabbering on and on about what their old classmates were up to these days. Insignificant as the fates of students like Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were, Draco found himself listening intently to the stories, drinking in every word. Potter had always had the ability to make people listen to him – he wasn't as eloquent as the average politician, but there was a fiery presence in his voice when he spoke which made people pay attention. Draco didn't even bother to be jealous of it anymore.

Not once did Potter mention Granger or Weasley, Draco noticed with a slight frown. Coming to think of it, Potter didn't say a word about any of the Gryffindors. Draco had to, somewhat reluctantly, admit that he was curious.

"I read in _The Prophet_ that Longbottom took professor Sprout's old job," he said casually, interrupting Potter's rant about Padma Patil's unexpected divorce from Terry Boot. "How is that going?"

It was very hard not to add a scornful remark on Longbottom's dubious teaching skills. He deserved a medal for that.

"Yes, he did" Potter answered slowly, giving Draco a suspicious look, "but I don't… we haven't spoken in a while."

"Oh?" Draco said inquiringly, carefully sipping on his tea.

Potter frowned at him.

"He kind of sided with Ginny in the divorce."

"Oh" Draco said again, pausing to think of another one of Potter's old housemates. "So… how's Dean Thomas these days?"

"If you want to know why none of my friends are speaking to me, just _ask_," Potter snapped.

"You're misinterpreting me, Potter" Draco lied. "As it happens, I am… curious about my old friends."

Potter stared at him in disbelief.

"You tried to hex Neville at least once a week!"

Draco smiled at the memory.

"I did, didn't I?" he said gleefully. "Good times."

Potter looked as though he wanted to punch Draco in the face, but fortunately, he settled on clenching his fists in a very threatening manner.

"You're an arse, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth.

Draco smiled politely back at him.

"You love it."

Strangely enough, Potter blushed at this.

"I do _not_," he muttered. "You know, I think you could actually be a decent person if you would only try. Might do you some good."

"Oh please" Draco replied. "A decent person? Potter, you wouldn't like me if I was decent."

"I never said I liked you now either" Potter pointed out dryly, but Draco decided to ignore him.

"You want me to be an annoying brat," he continued, holding up one hand when Potter opened his mouth to interrupt. "In school, I was always there, provoking you, and you _thrived_ on it. Seriously, it was almost as though you needed me to be in your face all the time. I actually tried avoiding you during sixth year, but you just couldn't let it go, could you?"

"Avoiding me?" Potter asked incredulously. "You crushed my nose on the Hogwarts Express, for crying out loud!"

"And you sliced my chest open in the boy's bathroom" Draco said icily, silencing Potter. "And that's beside the point. You couldn't just let me mind my own business - you were so bothered by the lack of contact with me that you actually _stalked_ me…"

"_Because I knew you were up to something!"  
_

"Oh, just admit it, Potter" Draco snapped irritably. "You needed me to be a pain in your arse and you hated it when I tried to keep out of your way."

"Maybe I did!" Potter shouted, his cheeks still scarlet, "Say it's true, say I did need you to be a giant prick towards me and my friends for some stupid reason. It doesn't mean I still… it doesn't mean I want it to be that way."

"Well, what is it that you want from me then, Potter?" Draco asked angrily. "This is me, and this is how I act. It's how I always acted, so what could you possibly want from me, besides this?"

"I told you I wanted to be your friend," Potter growled, rubbing his eyes. "Why is that so difficult?"

"Because it's ridiculous!" Draco cried out. "It's not… you're not supposed to…"

He stopped himself there, because continuing would have been pointless. What could he possibly say? That this foolish attempt at friendship was bound to fail sooner or later? That they were stupid for even thinking this might work?

That he wasn't good enough to be anyone's friend?

"I thought we went over this before," Potter said quietly after a moment of silence. "I don't care about what this is supposed to be like. It can be whatever we want it to be."  
"And what _do_ we want it to be?"

"It could be… simple" Potter answered warily. "We could… I don't know, Malfoy, maybe we could try to be nice to each other? It doesn't have to be harder than that."

"I don't know how to be nice to you" Draco said, clenching his jaw.

Potter smiled a little at this.

"You could give it a try," he said softly. "You could start by telling me how sorry you are about my divorce. You know, try for some sympathy. I'm pretty sure that's common between friends."

"But I'm not" Draco interjected. "I mean… are _you_ even sorry about it? I'm not sure, but you don't seem to be."

Of course, there had been the crying, Draco remembered suddenly. Clearly, Potter _was_ upset, and it just now struck Draco how dangerous this topic might be. What if Potter would get emotional again? Draco wasn't so keen on dealing with that right now.

Potter considered him for a moment before answering.

"I'm not sorry we're divorced," he said finally. "But I am sorry about… how it happened. I'm sorry that I hurt her."

"That _you_ hurt _her_?" Draco asked, before he could stop himself. "She cheated on you, Potter. I don't understand why you worry about her feelings so much."  
Potter looked up at him, his expression unreadable.

"Ginny didn't cheat on me," he said roughly.

Draco frowned.

"What about that man she's with in all of The Prophet's photos, then?"

"That's just one of her co-workers" Potter sighed. "She didn't want to face the papers alone after… when it happened. They just assumed she was having an affair with him, and didn't even bother to look into it any further."

"But then… why?" Draco asked, uncomprehending.

Potter closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

"It wasn't Ginny. It was me. I slept with someone else."

Draco didn't even try to hide his shock.

"You did _what?_" he almost shouted, throwing all thoughts of being careful about the subject out the window.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Malfoy" Potter said darkly, rubbing his eyes. "It's not something that I'm proud of."

"Obviously not" Draco said under his breath. "Damn it, Potter. And you call _me_ a slut."

Potter shot him a nasty look.

"Real nice."

"I'm sorry" Draco offered, not being remorseful at all. "It's just… but of course, it all makes sense now, sort of. And Weasley's little _sister_…"

"I already know I'm the worlds biggest jerk" Potter interrupted testily. "You don't have to rub it in."

Draco didn't know how to answer this, so he kept his mouth shut for a while, turning this new piece of information over in his mind.

So, Potter was even a bigger moron than Draco would have ever imagined him to be. From what Draco had heard, the Weasleys had treated Potter as their own son ever since he had first set foot in their home. By cheating on their only daughter, he had not only alienated the closest thing to a family he had, but also effectively antagonized all of the friends and acquaintances that he shared with his wife. Which basically seemed to be about every single person Potter had ever spoken to.

Clearly, this had to be one of those occasions where Potter needed to_ talk about his feelings, _Draco suddenly realized. Feelings had never been Draco's area of expertise, and his initial fear of the subject slowly came creeping back.

This situation definitely called for drastic measures. There was only one logical thing to do.

"Potter" Draco said slowly, "where do you keep your booze?"

If he was going to listen to Potter's whining, he needed to get his drunk on.

"It's half past eleven in the morning, Malfoy" Potter pointed out. "We're eating breakfast."

"Who cares? These are dark times, Potter, very dark indeed," Draco said ominously, scanning the kitchen for some indication of where Potter would keep his liquor. "Do you have firewhisky? I bet you _do_, don't you? Where is it?"

Potter just stared at him.

"You're serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Draco said irritably, standing up from the table. "Come on, show me. I will find it anyway, so you might as well."

"Great, so you're an alcoholic" Potter remarked, rolling his eyes. "I should've seen that one coming… it's in the cupboard below the sink," he added hurriedly when Draco shot him a murderous glare.

"It is you who's all dark, emotional and needy right now," Draco said lightly as he scurried across the kitchen towards the cupboard, sensing that salvation was near. "This is in your best interest, trust me."

"Trust a Slytherin" Potter muttered. "Not bloody likely."

Draco didn't pay attention to this – he was far too busy rummaging through the tiny cabinet in search for something strong enough to get them through the awkward conversation that was sure to follow.

"_Aha!_" he said triumphantly, protracting a large, dusty bottle from the very depths of the cupboard. "I only dared to hope that you were keeping a bottle of Ogden's in here. I never thought I would say this, Potter, but you do seem to have some sense of taste after all."

"I'm glad I don't disappoint" Potter said dryly as Draco brought the bottle and two empty glasses back to the table. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

"Your lack of judgement never seizes to astound me, though. This is a _marvellous_ idea," Draco said, pouring up generous amounts of firewhiskey in both of their glasses. He raised his own towards Potter, giving him a polite nod. "Cheers!"

Potter rolled his eyes once again, reluctantly raising his own glass to the same height as Draco's.

"Cheers" he repeated gloomily, putting the glass to his lips.

Draco took a deep gulp of his own glass, shuddering slightly as the smoky liquid scorched his throat like a flaming sword. The pleasant heat that slowly started spread through his chest afterwards made it more than worth the discomfort, though.

"So" he said, carefully twisting the glass in his hands, "let the whining commence, I suppose. Would you like to tell me about your… erm… feelings?" He tried very hard not to wrinkle his nose.  
Potter glared at him.

"I wasn't going to _whine_," he said grumpily, clasping his glass so tightly that his knuckles started to go white. "I'd actually prefer not to talk about it at all."

"That's funny" Draco remarked, "since you were the one who brought it up in the first place."

"I did _not_" Potter objected vehemently. "You were the one prying around in my personal life!"

"You could have just ignored me if it was bothering you so much" Draco said solemnly. Deciding he was still way too sober, he quickly emptied his glass only to refill it immediately.

"Are you really this disturbed by the thought of my sharing my feelings with you?" Potter asked, clearly amused.

"Well, since you decided to _cry_ on me last time…" Draco scowled, causing Potter to blush.

"You do have a point," he admitted meekly, quickly excusing himself from elaborating that statement by taking a large swig of whisky.

"I know I have a point" Draco sniffed haughtily. "I'm full of good points, in case you haven't noticed."

"You're full of something alright."

"Manners, Potter" Draco snapped, but there was no real edge to his words. Instead, he found himself fighting back a small smile. Who would have known Potter was capable of wit?

"What are you going to do, dock five points from Gryffindor?" Potter said dryly. "Sorry to break it to you, Malfoy, but you're not in the Inquisitorial Squad anymore."

"I'm afraid you're right," Draco said with a theatrical sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh, dear old Dolores. Bless her heart, she was probably the best teacher to ever… _ow_!"

Potter had kicked his shin under the table - unnecessarily hard in Draco's opinion. Potter grinned slyly at him, but Draco couldn't help to notice that he was rubbing the back of his hand absently at the same time. An unconscious gesture, no doubt – but why? Draco made a mental note to look into that one later.

Deciding to ignore the assault, Draco raised his glass for the second time that morning, inclining his head towards Potter, who slowly mirrored the gesture.  
_  
Bottom's up._

* * *

"You have really stupid hair," Draco pronounced a few hours later.

Deciding that the kitchen chairs were much too uncomfortable, they had ended up in the living room, idly slouched back in the sofa. Draco was clutching the now almost empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, using his other to make wild gestures that were meant to indicate exactly how insane Potter's haircut looked.

"I do _not_," Potter protested, lazily poking Draco in the side with his elbow. "You've had too much to drink, that's your problem. I have _excellent_ hair."

"It's_ stupid_" Draco repeated stubbornly, waving his arms recklessly to emphasize his point. "And I am not drunk, Potter, I… whupps!"

For some reason, the bottle had decided to escape from his hand, landing with a loud thump on one of the cushions between them. Somehow, Potter managed to snatch it before any of the whisky poured out over his sofa.

"I'm holding on to this now" he declared, and Draco watched in horror as most of the remaining liquid disappeared down Potter's throat.

That was _Draco's_ bottle, damn it.

"I found it" he objected, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from Potter's evil clutches. "Give it back."

Potter shook his head violently, sliding a little further towards the edge of the sofa as Draco's outstretched arm approached him.

"Nu-uh" he said, holding up the bottle way over his head. "You're just going to drop it again."

Draco was seriously insulted by this for a few seconds before he remembered that Potter was somewhat dense.

"I did not drop it, it _escaped_" he explained, carefully articulating every syllable so that Potter would keep up, moving closer towards the other man as he spoke. "Now give it to me."

"If it escaped, it clearly doesn't want to be with you," Potter said seriously. "You're scaring it, I should keep it."

This was beyond unfair. If Potter was so set on keeping Draco's bottle hostage, Draco wasn't just going to sit around and wait for the Gryffindor to come to his senses. Counting on the element of surprise, he made a lunge towards Potter, eyes fixed on his prize. Unfortunately, Potter shifted in the last second, and Draco was grasping thin air – his shoulder hit something hard that was probably the side of Potter's face, and they both fell backwards in a tangled mess. Potter's back hit the floor with a crash, a soft cry escaping his lips as Draco landed heavily on top of him. The bottle flew out from Potter's hand, and Draco swore under his breath as it inevitably hit the floor and rolled away, leaving a small trail of liquid behind.

"Now look what you did," Draco scolded, narrowing his eyes to see Potter more clearly. His glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose, and he was watching Draco with what seemed to be an amused expression. Of course, Draco couldn't be sure, because Potter's features were kind of blurry at the moment.

"What _I_ did?" Potter said, twisting a little under Draco. "This was your fault, you were the one who attacked me and made us fall over!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Draco said, offended. "A Malfoy never falls over."

Potter was oddly comfortable to lie on top of, he noted, wondering idly why he hadn't tried this before. Deciding Potter would make an excellent mattress, he shifted a little so that he could rest his head on the other man's chest.

"Er, Malfoy?" Potter said warily after a few seconds. "Could you perhaps… get off me?"

Draco lifted his head a little to meet Potter's questioning gaze.

"Why?" he asked, confused and a little annoyed. Mattresses shouldn't talk.

"Um… well…" Potter mumbled, "you're… on top of me?"

"That's because you're a _mattress_, stupid," Draco said irritably.

"Um" Potter said again, but Draco ignored him and laid his head down again. Potter's body felt warm and soft underneath his own, and he could probably have fallen asleep if it wasn't for the rapid thunder of Potter's heart.

"Potter, I think you're having a heart attack," he said matter-of-factly, pressing the side of his head closer to Potter's chest. There was a soft, humming sound echoing through it as Potter laughed. Draco decided that he liked it.

"If I am, it's your fault" Potter murmured, his hot breath tickling the top of Draco's head.

"I hope you won't die from it" Draco continued thoughtfully, barely having heard Potter's response. "You won't be this warm when you're dead, I think."

"Probably not" Potter agreed, drawing a sharp breath as Draco slightly altered his position so that his cheek rested on Potter's shoulder instead.

Potter smelled awfully nice for a mattress, the sweet scent radiating from his skin reminding Draco of honey and lemons. Inhaling greedily, Draco wondered if it tasted the same way.

He never got the chance to find that one out, because Potter suddenly stiffened underneath him, and before he knew it, Draco was on his back on the floor. He blinked hard in confusion, slowly realizing Potter had jumped away from him, now leaning back on to the base of the sofa. He was breathing heavily, his knees pulled up to his chest and a dark flush was starting to spread across his cheeks as his eyes met Draco's.

It was at this point Draco started to realize that he was, indeed, quite wasted.

He also started to realize that nuzzling Potter's neck hadn't been such a great idea.

"I'm drunk" he tried to explain, the stupid excuse earning him a rueful smile from Potter in return.

"I know."

Slowly rising into a sitting position, Draco tried very hard to concentrate and to not fall back into the drunken, stupid haze that had caused them this awkward situation.

_Focus_.

"I'm going to drink some water."

Had he really slurred this much before?

He slowly stood up, grabbing the edge of the sofa for support. Potter wasn't looking at him anymore, fixing his gaze at the floor instead, his jaw tense.  
Draco was almost at the doorway when Potter finally spoke, his voice strained:

"I told you this was a bad idea."

For once, Draco had to agree with him.


	7. Fresh feeling

**Author's notes: **Hey everybody! Sorry for the delay, but finally, here's the new chapter. I had some trouble with this since my computer decided to crash halfway through, leaving me to rewrite the whole thing.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who's read and reviewed this story - I wouldn't be able to keep going without you. I know I'm bad at answering your reviews personally, but believe me when I say that they mean the world to me. I'll try to do better on that, but until then, know that you're amazing and that I love your support.

I'd also like to thank my dear friend Emy, because without you, I doubt I would be able to keep this up. You're always there giving me advice and urging me to carry on, and I love you for that.  
Her pen name here is **Vendelin**, and if you're searching for another great HP/DM I can strongly recommend her new fic **Glued** - I love it to bits.

Alright, I'm going to stop talking now. Enjoy, everybody! Keep reading, keep reviewing :)

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Fresh feeling**

As it turned out, sharing an undeniably gay moment with your former nemesis was a very sobering experience. Draco's mind was surprisingly clear, mulling over the previous incident as he threw back countless glasses of water.

_Had he really considered licking Potter's neck?_

Feeling a sudden urge to stab one of Potter's kitchen knives through his chest, Draco sank down in one of the chairs, warily rubbing his temple. This was beyond mortifying – no wonder Potter had reacted the way he did. He could hardly be blamed for being so disgusted by Draco's inappropriate behaviour. What was happening between them, anyway? Three days ago, Potter was the most annoying git on the planet and Draco would gladly have wished upon him a slow, painful death. Today, Potter smelled _nice_. Draco couldn't even recall the last time he had noticed another person's scent.

This was all a product of the stressful situation they were in, it had to be. With Potter's divorce and _The Prophet_ and Draco's generally crappy life, it was only natural for both of them to feel a little thrown off balance. It didn't mean… they weren't… Draco couldn't even put a word to the thought.

One thing was clear – he had to talk to Potter. If they were going to keep up with this weird friendship-thing, there had to be some way to make this situation a little less awkward. Fervently wishing he knew _how_ to do just that, Draco rose from his chair and made towards the living room, preparing to explain himself.

Only Potter wasn't there anymore.

Blinking hard in confusion, Draco scanned the room once again only to verify his first assumption – Potter truly was gone.

Draco didn't even have time to think about what Potter's absence meant before he spotted the small note that he had left on one of the sofa cushions. Picking it up, he had to squint real hard to make out the words Potter had scribbled down.

_  
Malfoy,  
Needed to take care of something.  
Don't freak out, I'll be back in a few hours.  
- Harry_

"I wasn't going to freak out" Draco muttered to himself, clenching his fist around the tiny piece of paper. "Why would I?"

Sinking back in the sofa, he realized he had no idea where the other man possibly could have gone, and it made him vaguely uneasy. Potter had just admitted that none of his friends wanted anything to do with him, so it was unlikely that he had went to visit anyone of them. But then again, maybe Draco had underestimated the amount of alcohol Potter had consumed. _Needed to take care of something_… was it possible that Potter actually had apparated to see Granger and Weasley?

It made sense, Draco thought. Potter wasn't exactly famous for thinking before he acted, and with his judgement clouded by the firewhisky, it seemed likely that visiting and apologizing to his friends would strike him as an excellent plan.

At first, Draco snorted at the idea of Potter making a fool out of himself, but then, a sinking realization struck him, twisting his stomach into knots. What if Potter's friends _would_ forgive him? Maybe they were having a cosy reunion in Weasley's living room this very minute, drinking hot chocolate, hugging and promising each other never to argue again. Draco had a feeling this new fragile friendship that had formed between him and Potter wouldn't last if that happened.

Of course, that shouldn't matter. Draco hadn't even wanted to make nice with Potter to begin with, so he shouldn't be bothered by the fact that Potter would abandon him as soon as his real friends forgave him. After all, Draco had known all along that this had been a stupid idea and that it wouldn't work out.

It shouldn't matter, but it did. Draco didn't want to think about why.

He didn't want to sit around and just wait for Potter to come back and throw him out either, but he didn't know where he would go. He had a feeling that _The Prophet_ still were watching his apartment, and the prospect of facing a dozen raging journalists wasn't very tempting. He supposed he could try to contact one of his old housemates, but he hadn't spoken to Pansy or any of the others in several years, and they probably weren't looking to do him any favours even if he asked them.

Looking down in his lap, he spotted his dirty fingernails and with a small frown, he realized he didn't even remember the last time he had taken a shower. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to look well groomed when Potter decided to get rid of him, he headed towards the bathroom.

It was rather small with white glazed tiles on he floor and a large bathtub taking up most of the space, only leaving just enough room for the toilet and the sink to squeeze in to. Draco was overjoyed – his own apartment didn't have a tub, so the last time he had taken a proper bath was in the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts. It had been one of his favourite places in the castle – he had spent hours there, just relaxing and swimming around, trying out all the different taps to see what they would do. Of course, Potter's bathtub wasn't nearly the same size as the one at Hogwarts, but Draco wasn't in any position to be petty.

He turned on the tap, and within a few minutes, the tub was filled up with water that was a little too hot – exactly the way Draco preferred it. Making sure the door was locked in case Potter would come back, he stepped into the tub, gasping a little as the water scorched his legs. Sinking down, the burning heat seemed to penetrate his skin, filling his whole body with a soft, tingling warmth that made him sigh with pleasure. He hadn't felt this much at ease in ages.

He wasn't sure how for how long he stayed there, washing his hair with Potter's honey-scented shampoo with deliberate slowness and enjoying the feel of the water caressing his skin. When he finally decided to get up, the water had cooled off significantly, and the skin on his hands had started to wrinkle. Quickly rinsing off his body, he grabbed a towel from a hook beside the tub, using it to thoroughly dry his hair before wrapping it around his waist. As he caught his reflection in the small mirror above the sink, he couldn't help but scowl at it in distaste. His hair was a ruffled mess, and since this was Potter's apartment, it was safe to assume there wouldn't be a single comb lying around. Draco spent several minutes trying to flatten the disarranged strands of blonde hair before giving up completely, wistfully thinking of his own comb, which was lying on top of the sink in his own bathroom.

He kept studying the mirror, critically scanning his face, frowning at the look of his slightly jutting chin and pointed nose which he had never exactly learned to like and which were even more prominent now. He had lost so much weight during the past few years that all of his features seemed sharper. As he looked up, steely grey eyes looked back at him with a cool, composed gaze that would have made his father proud. Draco's lips twisted into a wry smile at the thought - he had since long given up on his futile attempts of pleasing Lucius Malfoy.

He glanced down on the floor and spotted his clothes, his nose wrinkling at the sight – it seemed contraproductive to put on his old, dirty clothes straight away after taking a bath. Deciding he could probably use a simple cleaning spell to get rid of the worst grime, he opened the door and headed towards the living room where he had left his wand.

For a moment, he had almost forgotten that this was Potter's apartment. The fact that Potter was waiting for him in the hall served as a painful reminder.

Potter's skin was slightly flushed and his hair was even more untidy than usual – he looked like he had just been running. When he spotted Draco, standing half naked in the doorway to his bathroom, his mouth dropped slightly, and Draco would have wanted nothing more than to sink through the floor. Clenching his jaw and fighting the urge to cover his exposed chest, he straightened up and met Potter's gaze with a well-rehearsed glare.

"Er… Malfoy, hi" Potter said stupidly, staring at Draco's torso in a very rude manner.

"Potter" Draco answered resolutely, trying not to let his discomfort show in his voice. They were silent for a few moments during which Draco had time to come up with five different ways to commit suicide on the spot, before Potter spoke again.

"What's up with your hair?"

Draco swore under his breath as he felt his face flush. So much for keeping his composure.

"I have excellent hair" he sneered, blushing even more as he realized he was quoting Potter from earlier. "It's not my fault that you don't even have enough sense to keep a comb around here."

Potter looked as though he was about to retort, but Draco pushed past him towards the living room before he could say anything.

Snatching his wand from the floor (he couldn't exactly remember why he'd put it there), Draco was desperate to get back to the bathroom to get his clothes back on, but Potter was standing in the doorway, effectively blocking Draco's path.

"You could borrow some of my clothes if you want" he suggested. "I wouldn't mind."

Draco's jaw tensed as he met Potter's gaze. The other man was smiling slightly, obviously in a good mood – Draco took this as a sure sign that his reunion with Weasley and Granger had went well. Being a Gryffindor, Potter would probably feel guilty about throwing Draco out without any clean clothes.

"That won't be necessary, Potter" Draco said through his teeth. "Now, if you could move, I'll be on my way."

Potter looked at him quizzically, but he didn't give an inch as Draco tried to pass him.

"You're leaving?" he asked, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Why?"

Draco rolled his eyes and made another attempt to get through the doorway, but Potter held his ground as though he was guarding a sacred treasure or something. Draco contemplated punching him in the face, but then he remembered that Potter had the advantage in a fist fight.

"Don't act stupid, Potter" he sneered instead. "I know you don't want me around now that your _real _friends…"

"What are you talking about?" Potter interrupted him, taking a step forward so that his face was only inches from Draco's. He raised one hand as though he wanted to touch Draco's s arm, but at the last minute he seemed to change his mind and let it drop to his side instead.

The sudden closeness made Draco, if possible, even more aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but a towel, and he squirmed uneasily. Reading from Potter's expression, he really _didn't _know what Draco was talking about, which made the whole situation much more difficult to understand.

"You weren't… you didn't go away to apologize to Granger and Weasley?" he asked with a small frown, his mind reeling. Where else could Potter have been?  
Potter's expression darkened slightly, but he kept his gaze locked with Draco's.

"Well, no, of course not" he answered. "Ron probably would have killed me if I tried."

Draco felt a small surge of relief rush through his chest. Although he would have denied it under torture, he wanted to stay in Potter's apartment. At least for a few more days.

"But then… where…?"

"It doesn't matter" Potter said dismissively, waving Draco off with his hand. "You really thought I'd… Iwouldn't abandon you just because… I told you already, I don't…"

"Why wouldn't you, though?" It was Draco's time to interrupt. He exhaled heavily, struggling to find the right words. "Abandon me, I mean. They've been your friends for eleven years, Potter. We've been civil to one another for what, two days? Of course you'd choose them over me."

"I wouldn't have to choose" Potter shot back, although his voice started to waver a little. "If Ron and Hermione would forgive me, which doesn't seem bloody likely by the way, I could be friends with both them and you."

Draco doubted this, but he decided not to push the matter any further. At least not until he was fully clothed.

"We'll see," he said solemnly, stepping back a little. "Now, go cook me dinner or something, Potter. I'm hungry, and I need to get dressed."

Potter looked as though he was fighting back a smile.

"Sure" he said, finally stepping out of the way. Draco was halfway to the bathroom when Potter called his name. Turning around, he spotted something small and rectangular in Potter's hand.

"Yeah, what is it?" he asked.

Potter grinned.

"Catch" he said, and threw the small object towards Draco. He caught it in surprise, his fingers closing around it reflexively. Looking down at his palm, he couldn't help but smile.

Potter had given him a comb.

* * *

People used to say that Draco was weird about his hair. As he drew the comb through his already perfectly arranged locks for the gazillionth time, Draco figured they might have a point. Shooting one last glance at his reflection, he left the comb on the sink as he exited the bathroom and headed for the kitchen.

Potter was already sitting at the table with a large paper bag of what seemed to be Chinese food in front of him. He raised one eyebrow as Draco sat down next to him.

"Oh, there you are. I was afraid you'd drowned yourself in the sink or something" he said teasingly.

Draco ignored him and directed his attention towards the food, rummaging through the bag in search for spring rolls. There _had_ to be spring rolls – Draco loved them.

"So this is your idea of cooking?" he remarked, closing his fingers around what unmistakeably had to be a spring roll, mentally shouting in triumph. "Really, Potter. Take-out is bad for you."

"You don't seem to be too bummed out about it" Potter replied as Draco enthusiastically shoved the roll down his throat. "Remember to chew."

Draco scowled at him.

"I hope you're not planning on stealing my rolls," he said, holding one of his arms protectively around the bag. "I don't like sharing."

"You can keep them" Potter reassured him, holding up his hands. "Just hand me the dumplings, will you?"

Eating Chinese food with Potter was a surprisingly enjoyable affair – Potter didn't seem to like the giant shrimps which Draco thought were to die for, and Potter was glad to take that disgusting fried rice off Draco's hands. They spent almost the entire dinner talking about quidditch - Draco was mortified to find out that both he and Weasley supported the Chudley Cannons, which made Potter roll his eyes and kick Draco lightly under the table. Draco kicked him back and didn't think twice about leaving his foot resting slightly against Potter's shin.

"We should go see a game sometimes" Potter suggested as Draco wrinkled up the empty paper bag and threw it towards the trashcan, missing by a few inches. "You know, when all of this blows over."

"Sure, I'd like that" Draco agreed, slowly becoming aware of that he actually meant it. Potter was smiling at him, one of those large, inviting smiles that were so disarming and warm and made it very hard for Draco _not _to smile back.

That was when Draco realized he liked Potter's smile, and that he liked to be the person who Potter smiled at like that.

It seemed like an odd thing to realize about your lifelong-nemesis-and-now-almost-friend, but right now, Draco didn't care what that meant.

Right now, it just felt nice.


	8. Positive tension

**Author's Notes**: Thanks everybody for your tremendous support. Your reviews really do mean a lot to me, even though I know I'm lousy at replying (sorry about that). Keep letting me know what you think of the development of this fic, it inspires me to keep on writing :) without further delay, here's chapter 7! I hope you'll enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Positive tension**  
The following two weeks drew by without anything particularly eventful happening, and Draco found this new change of pace to be quite nice. At first he had been concerned about his job, thinking about how angry Mr. Barnes must have been when he hadn't shown up for work the day he and Potter had escaped from the journalists. Since Potter didn't have a phone, Draco had wrote Mr. Barnes a letter with a heart-wrenching story of how his poor, sick mother had requested for Draco to visit her on her death bed. He wasn't sure his boss would buy it, though. Or if it would be enough for him to keep Draco around.

Draco would probably still be worried sick about it if it hadn't been for Potter's relaxed and carefree attitude – he was acting so calm it was contagious. Potter seemed so at ease with the entire situation that Draco couldn't help being relaxed as well.

He continued to sleep on the sofa, but the nightmare from his first night hadn't returned, and Potter stayed in his own bed. Draco was usually the one who woke up first, and Potter normally got out of bed just in time for tea, which they drank over the morning newspaper. They didn't get _The Prophet_, which was probably for the best – Draco didn't think that reading horrible lies about himself was a good way to start the day – but as it turned out, Potter was subscribing to several of the British muggle newspapers. Draco didn't much care for the articles, but he usually spent breakfast and a good part of the day with the crosswords. He could never have finished a muggle crossword on his own, but after a few hours of cursing and ripping the papers in to shreds, Potter would take pity on him and lean in over his shoulder to help him.

"I would have finished it without your help" Draco always scowled afterwards, making Potter smile and shoot back some teasing comment on Draco's lack of crossword skills.  
They rarely went outside apart from shopping groceries – Draco had been very firm when he had told Potter that take-out from the Chinese place around the corner every night wasn't a well-balanced diet, and that they had to start to make their own dinner. Draco had suspected Potter to be a lousy chef, and it only took one batch of horribly disgusting and burnt pancakes for Draco to be proven right and to take charge of the cooking completely.

Every other afternoon, Potter would disappear for a few hours – he was always very vague when Draco asked where he was going, either pretending he was in a hurry and disapparating before giving a straight answer, or quickly changing the subject to something he knew Draco couldn't help get distracted by. Like crosswords.

Draco usually spent the hours when Potter was gone reading. Even though there weren't very many to choose from, Potter had a few books by muggle authors that Draco never had heard of but found to be very interesting. He had ploughed through both _Animal farm_ and _1984_ by George Orwell with great enthusiasm over the first week, and had just begun reading some weird book that seemed to be about a crazy fisherman and a giant whale of some sort. Draco wasn't too sure about that one yet, but Potter had insisted that it was a classic and that Draco just _had_ to read it.  
One afternoon when Potter was running unusually late from one of his mysterious disappearances, Draco decided to leave the apartment alone for the first time. They were short on vegetables, and Draco figured it was stupid to just sit around and wait for Potter to accompany him to the supermarket. He wasn't a child, after all, and he was well capable of taking care of himself.

He took some of the grocery money that Potter kept in a jar in one of his cupboards and carefully spelled the front door shut upon leaving. It was a nice and clear day, although it was so cold that Draco's breath sent out tiny puffs of smoke that evaporated in the air. Draco didn't have any trouble finding the supermarket, having memorized the route on the first day they went there, and he did his shopping quickly.

As he headed back towards the apartment, he walked past a small coffee shop on the corner of Potter's building that he hadn't noticed before. Coffee had been one of Draco's guilty pleasures back at Hogwarts – Madam Puddifoot's latte with hazelnut syryp had been like a drug to him. Sadly, he had never learned how to get his own coffee just as delicious as the ones Puddifoot's served, so he had simply stopped trying after a while.

Draco stopped just outside the entrance, hesitating. He still had some money left, and Potter had said that he was the only wizard who lived in this part of London. It wasn't exactly likely that he would run in to someone from _The Prophet_ in a coffee shop of all places. Draco hadn't had a good cup of coffee in years, and really, what harm could it do? He didn't even have to stay for more than a minute or two; he could easily just buy a cup and bring it back to the apartment.

There really wasn't a reason _not_ to do it, Draco thought as he pushed the door to the shop open. It had been a bewildering couple of weeks – he deserved to enjoy himself a little.

The shop was rather busy, with people occupying almost every one of the small, round tables. Even if there were any journalists lurking, Draco doubted that they would notice him as he quickly made his way towards the counter. A red-haired very pleasant woman quickly prepared his order, and Draco gratefully accepted the steaming large cup of hazelnut-scenting liquid. He smiled and mouthed a thanks before heading towards the exit, and he was just about to open the door when someone, rather abruptly, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Draco almost spilled out his coffee in the process, managing to save it just in the last second.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, irritably shrugging the vice-like hand off his shoulder. He looked up only to face a pair of wide-open brown eyes, staring at him in disbelief.

_"Malfoy?"_ the brown-eyed woman said incredulously, her surprised expression quickly turning into a disapproving frown that Draco remembered all too well.

Fantastic.

"Hello Granger" he said through his teeth, quickly screwing up his face in a scowl to match her disdainful glare. "Didn't think I'd find you here."

Granger looked the same as ever, clearly still not realizing that there was such a thing as conditioner, and that she could really use some in that wool that she called hair. She was blending in perfectly well with the muggles in the shop, wearing jeans and a simple blouse that was buttoned all the way up.

Typical Granger. Always such a prude.

"I'm actually surprised to see _you_ here as well" Granger replied, her eyes narrowing. "Don't you live in the other end of town?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but shut it quickly again. Granger was, he reluctantly had to admit, a clever woman. Her showing up at a coffee shop just a few minutes walk from Potter's apartment was hardly a coincidence. She was looking for him, Draco was sure of it. Potter had said that no one knew about his secret apartment, but Granger obviously had a pretty good idea of where to look. And if she had read _The Prophet_, which Draco thought was safe to assume she _had_, she would realize that her best bet of finding Harry was through Draco.

Maybe Potter wanted to be found by her. Draco couldn't be sure. But until he was, he wasn't letting Granger anywhere near Potter's apartment.

A small voice in the back of his mind was wondering where this new protectiveness over Potter came from, but Draco pushed it aside. Right now, he had to concentrate. Obviously, Granger knew Potter well enough to know that there was no way in hell that he and Draco would be… _a couple._ If he got her to believe that he really didn't know where Potter was hiding, maybe she would leave him alone.

"That's correct," he answered coolly, choosing his words with care. "But I come here quite a lot, since this shop just happens to serve the best coffee in London. It's well worth the trouble."

It was believable, he thought. Very pre-war-Malfoyesque.

Granger eyes, if possible, narrowed even further.

"Really?" she said. "What's the name of this place, then?"

Draco froze, and Granger smiled triumphantly.

"Save it, Malfoy" she interrupted as Draco opened his mouth to answer just a few seconds too late. "I know you're staying with him, so just tell me where Harry is."

Draco clenched his jaw. Granger was even more annoying now than at school, but he had to resist the urge to snap at her. He might still be able to save the situation.

"I don't know what you're talking about" he said. "Luckily, I haven't seen Potter since I had to drag his sorry arse back home from the pub where I work. And I hope I won't have the displeasure of meeting him again anytime soon."

Granger looked as though she was restraining herself from loosing her temper as much as Draco did – her fists were curled into tiny balls that were whitening by the second.

"Look" she said through gritted teeth, "I know that you and Harry are… a _thing_ now. I can't say I approve of his judgement, but I guess he has his reasons, and I accept that he has certain… _  
feelings_ for you. But I've been one of Harry's best friends for more than ten years, and even though you're his secret lover or whatever now, I'm not going to let _Draco Malfoy_ of all people stand between us. I need to talk to him."

Draco didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If even Granger believed the crap that _The Prophet_ was writing, he didn't even dare to think about how many others that stupid paper could have fooled.

"Potter and I are not a _thing_," he sneered, cursing inwardly as he felt himself blush. "Seriously, Granger, and you call yourself his friend. No one with their mind in the right place would believe that Potter and I… it's not_ like_ that."

Granger was blushing now, too. It really wasn't a pretty sight combined with her flaring nostrils and that scary looking vein on her forehead.

"My mind is _fine_, thank you very much," she snapped, glowering venomously at Draco. "And, really, I don't care what it is or is not like. I'd rather not know anything about it, to be honest. I just need to speak to my friend, and I won't give up until you tell me where he is."

She crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant gesture, and Draco swore under his breath. It looked like she was serious. There was no point denying he knew Potter's location any longer – he had pretty much given that one up. What he needed to do now was to distract Granger somehow, so that he could slip away from her.

"What makes you think he _wants _to speak to you, anyway?" he asked, mostly to buy time. When Granger looked as though she had been punched in the face, he knew he was on to something, and continued: "You have ignored him for _months _over some stupid little mistake. If I were him, I wouldn't forgive you that easily."

"Shut up Malfoy" Granger scowled, her face a deep crimson now. "It's not… Ginny's Ron's _little sister_. You can't just expect him to shrug something like that off."

"Well, she isn't_ your_ little sister now, is she?" Draco shot back. "You said it yourself – you've been friends for more than ten years, and yet, you just abandoned him like that."

"Ron is my husband" Granger protested, but her voice had lost some of its determination. "I needed to… I had to support him."

Draco snorted.

"That, Granger, is a load of crap."

Granger opened her mouth again, but Draco silenced her by holding up his hand.

"Tell you what," he said softly, "I'll let Potter know I ran in to you. Then he can make up his mind if he wants to listen to you or not. Just don't hold your breath."

With that, he turned and left, leaving Granger behind with a miserable expression on her face. Just to be sure she wasn't following him, he took a quick detour before heading back towards the apartment. Potter wasn't home yet, which suited Draco perfectly. He needed some time to think.

His run-in with Granger had been confusing in several ways. Draco had no idea why he had let his temper rise like that, or why he had felt such a need to defend Potter. Granger's determination to speak to Potter was bothering him way more than it should, and that didn't bode well.

He hated to admit that Granger was right in some ways – she and Weasley had been friends with Potter for a long time. The obviously had much history together, and the more Draco thought about it, the more he became certain that Potter probably would be eager to hear that Granger had been looking for him. During the brief moments he had mentioned their whole disagreement, he had always talked about how Granger and Weasley never would forgive _him_ - not the other way around. Draco wasn't even sure Potter realized he had been mistreated – he seemed to be too busy blaming himself to realize that his friends were meant to be there for him, not make him feel worse.

Draco would tell Potter about his meeting with Granger, and Potter would be overjoyed and apparate over to make up with her and Weasley right away. That was how it would go down. Of course, Potter had assured Draco that _they_ would continue to be friends, if that was what they were, but Draco knew better. Potter's guilty conscience would probably stop him from ditching Draco right away, but eventually, things would go back to the way they were before. Maybe Potter would make the papers again, and Draco would continue to watch his life through them, like he had done for the past few years.

Nothing would have changed. And yet, Draco knew, that nothing would be the same either.

He started making dinner, a simple stew from the vegetables he had bought. It would be the last dinner he made in this kitchen – he had to get back home. Things were starting to get very confusing at this place, and he had to get back to his own reality. Maybe _The Prophet_ wouldn't leave him alone just yet, but he just had to find a way to deal with that. With any luck, his job would still be there waiting for him, and Mr. Barnes wouldn't torture him too much about having been away.

He was just done with the stew when a faint pop from the living room let him know that Potter had come back. Draco could hear his footsteps echo through the hall - they were heavier than usual, telling him that Potter was in a bad mood. Whatever he had done during his absence couldn't have gone well.

"Hi" Potter said sullenly upon entering the kitchen, and Draco just nodded towards the food in response. They both ate in silence, as Draco tried to figure out how to break the news abut Granger and his going back home, and as Potter clearly was in no mood to talk. He barely touched his food – he just sat there, staring grumpily at his plate with a crease between his eyebrows, his jaw and shoulders tense. Finally, Draco couldn't stand it anymore.

"I'm going home tonight," he said tentatively, trying to catch Potter's eye. "I need to get back to work, and rent is due next week."

Potter kept staring at his food, but he nodded slowly in response.

"Makes sense" he answered tonelessly, and Draco felt a prickling sense of irritation at how indifferent Potter was. At least he could _pretend_ to care.

"I'm glad you agree," he said, clenching his jaw.

"I do."

They were silent for a few more minutes, and Draco felt oddly disappointed. He knew that it was stupid, but he had expected some sort of reaction. After all, they had been living together for more than two weeks, and Draco had thought that… Potter had _said_ that they were friends.

"So, I guess we won't be seeing much of each other now, right?" he asked, hating how small and pleading his voice sounded. Hopefully, Potter hadn't noticed that.

Potter just shrugged, not meeting Draco's gaze. Draco felt a sudden urge to throw the plate that Potter was staring at in the wall. Why did Potter have to be such an idiot?

The best thing would be for Draco to leave as soon as possible. Clearly, Potter didn't want him around anymore, and there was really no point in staying. He just had to do one more thing.

"By the way, I ran in to Granger earlier."

Potter's head snapped up, and a little twist in Draco's stomach let him know that he was hurt that mentioning Granger was the one thing that caught Potter's attention.

"What?" Potter asked, his frown deepening as he finally looked up to meet Draco's eyes. "Where?"

"At the coffee shop" Draco answered uneasily. "She was looking for you. I think she… she wanted to talk to you."

There, he had said it. This friendship-thing was officially over.

"Oh" Potter said finally. "Oh. Right."

Nothing more. This was just ridiculous.

"So…" Draco urged when it became obvious that Potter wasn't going to say anything more. "Aren't you going to go over there and talk to them?"

"They can wait."

At least he was meeting Draco's eyes now. It didn't make much more sense, though.

"_What!?_"

Potter kept looking at him, his eyes unreadable.

"I'm having dinner," he pointed out, nodding down towards his barely-touched plate.

That was enough for Draco to snap. Just a little.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?" he shouted, grabbing the edge of the table to stop himself from throwing his own plate in Potter's face. "Clearly, you're _not_ having dinner, and I just told you that your friends who you've been sulking over for the past few months want to make up with you again. Why haven't you already apparated over there? Damn it Potter, I don't… I don't _get_ it."

Potter had been watching Draco quizzically during this outburst, his head slightly tilted as if he was trying to figure something out.

"Fine" he said and leaned forwards across the table, stopping when their faces were only inches apart. "You don't get it, that's fine. I guess I wasn't clear enough before."

He paused long enough for Draco to realize that he had forgotten to breathe. He wasn't sure if he dared to inhale with Potter being so close.

"I'm having dinner" Potter continued, his voice so intense that Draco's pulse started to race, "with _you_. They can wait."

As Potter smiled and leaned back in his chair again, Draco still wasn't sure that he got it. But he thought it might be something good.


	9. Honest mistake

**Author's notes: **Once again, thankyouthankyouthankyou to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. All of your positive feedback really kept me going on this chapter, and I am tremendously thankful. I would be nothing without all of you amazing readers. An extra huge thanks to **BesserwisserForHire** who's not only a great reviewer but one of the most amazing and insightful persons I know.

A few of you were confused over Harry's strange behavior in the end of the last chapter - all I have to say is: bear with me. I do have an explanation for that, but you'll have wait a few more chapters. Sorry ;)

I'll hope you enjoy chapter 8 as much as I enjoyed writing it. Keep reviewing, your feedback is like crack to me! Erm. In a good way.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Honest mistake**

If the journalists had broken in to Draco's apartment while he was gone, they had done a pretty good job of hiding it. As he scanned his kitchen, everything seemed to be the way he had left it, and that had to count for something. He spotted his half-eaten bowl of cereal at the table - it was stinking so bad that Draco had to pinch his nose while cleaning it with a flick of his wand.  
There was a huge pile of letters and old _Prophet'_s waiting on his windowsill. He threw the papers in the dustbin, but not before catching a glimpse of the headline of the topmost issue – "_No news on location of Potter and Malfoy's secret love nest_".

Brilliant.

He sat down and began sorting the letters – some were from journalist begging him to give them the exclusive story on his and Potter's passionate affair, others from rabid fan girls demanding him to leave their favourite saviour alone. An alarming majority of them even seemed to think that Draco had tricked Potter into drinking a love potion. Draco knew he should have expected that, but it made him feel uneasy nonetheless. He didn't enjoy feeling like he was inferior to Potter.

It was rather late in the evening, since Draco had stayed at Potter's place for a few more hours before apparating home. He contemplated going down to the pub to speak to Mr. Barnes, but he figured he might as well wait until morning. The place was likely to be crowded at this hour, which meant that even if Mr. Barnes would be there, chances were that he wouldn't have time to talk. Draco made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table instead, letting his mind wander freely.

It wasn't long until he, inevitably, started to think about Potter. It was easy to explain why, Draco thought – they had spent two weeks living with each other after all, and when you spent so much with someone, it was only natural to think about them when they weren't around anymore. There wasn't anything more to it than that.

It was just… different, to think about Potter now when they were sort-of-friends. It didn't infuriate Draco as it had done before – on the contrary, it was quite relaxing to think about the way that Potter's face lit up when he spoke of things that interested him, or how he always seemed to chew on his lower lip when he was nervous. Not even thinking about what Draco usually referred to as "_Potter's pathetic excuse for a haircut_" irritated him anymore. Actually, Potter's hair was pretty nice, in a wild and unpolished sort of way. If you liked that kind of look.

Which Draco didn't. He was just making an observation.

On that somewhat disconcerting notion, Draco finished his tea and decided to go to bed. He obviously had nothing better to do, so he might as well sleep. It felt a little weird crawling into his own bed again, especially since he had transformed it that night when he had dragged Potter home from the pub. It was way more comfortable than Potter's couch though, and Draco quickly started to get drowsy.

The last thing he remembered thinking of before drifting off was the following mornings crosswords. He wondered if Potter would finish them without him.

* * *

Draco skipped breakfast the following morning – it wasn't as though he had anything to eat anyway – and went straight for the pub. Well there he waited for a few minutes outside the door, mentally preparing himself. If he knew Mr. Barnes right there would be a fair amount of shouting waiting for him inside, and Draco was desperate to keep his job, whatever it took. He took a deep breath before pushing the door open, almost colliding with Peters who was heading out at the same time.

"Malfoy!" Peters said, sounding surprised. "How… how are you holding up?"

He was looking at Draco with a wary expression as he held up the door, which was pretty uncharacteristic. Peters had never shown any particular fondness of him, and he had never cared about how Draco were _holding up_ before.

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Peters just looked at him sympathetically and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, which puzzled Draco even more.

"Hang in there, mate" Peters said before exiting through the door.

He didn't offer an explanation, and it was all very confusing until Draco suddenly remembered the letter he had sent to Mr. Barnes - the one about his dying mother.

Maybe it hadn't been such a lousy story after all.

Jones was standing behind the bar, and he gave Draco an understanding smile as he spotted him. Before he could offer his condolences, Draco hurried to ask him were Mr. Barnes were.

"I'll go get him," Jones offered, putting down the glass he was cleaning on the counter and exiting down the staircase to the storage. Mr Barnes emerged slowly afterwards, and for once, he wasn't looking at Draco with contempt – instead, he almost seemed concerned.

"Draco" he said warily. "I'm glad to see you again."

Draco almost snorted. Mr Barnes had never called him by his first name without mocking him before.

"Listen, kid," Mr. Barnes continued, actually sounding remorseful, "I know I've been rough on you…" He paused and looked at Draco, as if expecting an answer.

"Oh, not at all, Mr. Barnes" Draco said, trying very hard to keep the irony away from his voice.

Mr Barnes just waved his hand dismissively.

"I lost my own mother when I was your age" he explained roughly, his face darkening. "I admit that you're not my favourite employee, but I know what you are going through, and believe me, I  
wouldn't even wish that upon my worst enemy. Tell me, how is she doing? Is she…?"

This was so far from how Draco had been expecting this conversation to turn out that he momentarily found himself at a loss for words. Mr Barnes, however, seemed to think that Draco simply was too upset to talk, and his eyes widened in realization.

"Oh, I am so sorry" he said apologetically offering Draco a small pat on the shoulder similar to the one he had received from Peters earlier. "I hoped… you shouldn't to work at a time like this, you need to be with the rest of your family right now."

Draco almost laughed – he couldn't believe he was having this conversation with his normally harsh and obnoxious boss right now. Maybe he was dreaming.

"Take a week or two more off" Mr Barnes continued sympathetically. "You will receive full pay during your absence, of course."

"What? But…"

"You don't have to worry about your job" Mr. Barnes interrupted. "You'd do no good around here when you're mourning anyway. Now, go home. It's an order."

Okay, so he _had_ to be dreaming. There was no way his big bully of a boss had just been that kind towards him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, eyeing me Barnes carefully. He was almost convinced that this was a trap of some sort.

"Of course I am" Mr. Barnes barked. "I have a conscience too, you know. Now, get out of my sight."

Draco was still pretty dazed as he exited the pub after offering Mr. Barnes a small thanks, and at first, he didn't notice the strange man who approached him on the street. Not until the same man spoke his name, anyway.

"Draco Malfoy?"

He barely had the time to react on the hand that grabbed hold of his shoulder and spun him around before he was completely blinded by the flash of a large camera.

"What is this?" he demanded, irritably rubbing his eyes as the camera kept flashing.

"Duncan Robbins, _The Prophet_" the man who had grabbed his shoulder said swiftly, and as Draco's eyes adjusted to the light and began to focus again, he spotted the acid green quill in the man's camera-free hand.

Inwardly cursing himself for not expecting this, Draco tried to regain some composure, staring coolly at the journalist. He was rather short with a boyish, freckled face and curly, dark hair – he looked nineteen at the very most. His brown eyes were burning with grim determination, as though he had been waiting a long time for this scoop and wasn't about to let it slip away now that he had his chance.

"What do you want?" Draco sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. If he made a run for his apartment, he knew that this Robbins-guy was sure to follow him. He needed a distraction.

"An interview, of course" Robbins replied rapidly, exchanging the camera with a small notebook from his bag. "My readers would love the latest news on your relationship with Harry Potter. Is he here with you?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that" Draco said disdainfully. "I am not involved with Mr. Potter."

"Then were have you two been for the last two weeks?" came Robbins' quick retort. "Witnesses saw Mr. Potter entering your apartment just minutes before both of you disappeared mysteriously."

Draco clenched his jaw, trying not to lose his temper. He wasn't going to give away anything - not a single quote for this scum to print in his precious _Prophet_.

"No comments."

"You won't deny that you and Potter escaped to Russia for a romantic honeymoon away from the public, then?"

"What?" Draco snapped. "Of course we didn't. Who would go to Russia for their honeymoon anyway?"

"So you admit that you were on your honeymoon somewhere else?"

The quill was starting to scribble on the notebook at an alarming speed.

"I don't admit anything" Draco scowled. "Now if you excuse me, I really need to…"

"For how long have you and Mr. Potter been a couple?" Robbins continued, ignoring Draco completely. "Could you tell my readers where you think your relationship is going?"

"Since we don't have a relationship, it's not really _going anywhere_."

The Quick Quotes-quill was still scribbling like crazy, but when Draco tried to sneak a peak, Robbins hastily tilted the notebook so that Draco couldn't get a good angle.

"Is Mr. Potter here with you now?"

Draco glowered at him.

"Didn't you ask that one already?"

"You didn't answer me."

Draco contemplated punching him in the face, but he didn't want to risk prosecution.

"No, he is not here."

"Where is he?"

"I have no idea" Draco lied. "Listen, I really need to…"

"Oh, I see" Robbins said, sounding suddenly sympathetic. "Did he dump you?"

"What?" Draco protested angrily. "He didn't _dump_ me, he just…"

He bit his lip, but he had a sinking feeling that the Robbins had his story already. His concern only deepened as Robbins smiled victoriously at him after quickly glancing down at his notes.

"Well, it was nice chatting with you, Draco" he beamed as he stuffed down the notebook and the quill into his bag. "If you have anything to add, please send me an owl. I would love a more  
in-depth interview with both you and Mr. Potter."

"And I would love for you to be eaten by werewolves" Draco said venomously.

Robbins still smiled as he turned around and left, clearly very pleased. Draco, on the other hand, felt like jumping off a cliff.

He hurried home when Robbins was out of sight, eager to curl up into a tiny ball on his bed and lie there for the rest of his life. Or punch his fist through a wall. Whichever was more convenient.

However, he never got as far as to the bed – as it turned out, someone was already there waiting for him.

Potter was standing in the doorway to the kitchen as Draco entered the hall. His hair was damp, as if he had taken a shower just before apparating over, and he was carrying a brown paper bag in  
his arms. He smiled widely as he spotted Draco.

"There you are" he said, eagerly taking a few steps forward, holding up the bag so that Draco could see it more clearly. "I brought some bagels, I figured you'd be hungry."

He was looking so cheerful and so completely at ease, as if there wasn't a problem in the world that he couldn't solve. As if all of this trouble with The Prophet was nothing to worry about. As if a bagel would make everything all right.

"Potter" Draco said curtly as the door slammed shut behind him.

Then he punched Potter straight in the face.

Or, that was what he was aiming for, anyway, but Potter's reflexes turned out to be excellent, and Draco's fist collided with his jaw instead. The pain started to spread through his hand immediately as his knuckles connected with Potter's chin, but it was nothing compared to the satisfaction that surged through his whole body as Potter cried out in surprise and agony.

The downside was that Draco had thrown his entire body into the punch, and that had cost him his balance. His chest crushed against Potter's and they both tumbled backwards, quickly ending up on the floor in a large heap of struggling and kicking arms and legs.

"What the hell is your problem, Malfoy?" Potter shouted as he tried to shield himself from Draco's furious attempts to get in another good punch at his face. "Get off me, you stupid git!"

"You're my problem" Draco snarled, somehow managing to both kick and elbow Potter in the ribs at the same time. "Everything is your bloody fault, Potter!"

Draco wasn't sure of what happened next, but somehow, Potter managed to push Draco off him and get to his feet. The left side of his face was rather swollen and he was breathing heavily, his hair more tousled than ever. As Draco also got up from the floor, he took a few steps backwards and held up his arms.

"I'm not going to fight you, Malfoy."

Draco glared at him.

"You said that the last time as well," he said, taking a few steps closer. Potter mirrored his movement, walking backwards instead. "What's the matter, Potter? Are you scared?"

"You're being an idiot, Malfoy" Potter answered, still edging backwards towards the wall. "More so than usual, I mean."

Draco almost had him cornered now. Potter would have to fight him, whether he wanted to or not.

"You said that this would blow over," Draco said as he took a few more steps forward. "All we had to do was wait, and they would forget about us. That's what you said."

"I did say that" Potter said carefully, his expression guarded. He was pressed up against the wall now, and Draco was moving closer. Nowhere to run.

"Is that what this is about, Malfoy? I told you, they're going to grow tired of waiting, and then…"

"That's funny, because Duncan Robbins didn't seem likely to _grow tired of waiting_. And he didn't forget about us either" Draco snarled, and Potter's eyes darkened visibly.

"You ran in to Robbins?" he asked grimly. "That guy's a jerk, Malfoy. Don't let him get to you."

"He caught me outside of the pub" Draco said through gritted teeth, closing the distance between them with one last step. He was standing only inches away from Potter now – he had the other  
man completely cornered. He could punch him. Kick him. Slam his head into the wall.

Touch him.  
_  
Wait… what?_

"I'm sorry you had to deal with him, Malfoy" Potter said, his voice sincere. "But I don't know if we… we just have to wait. That's all we can do at this point."

Draco was so bewildered he barely registered Potter's answer. His head was spinning. _Had he really just thought about…?_

He needed to snap out of this. What was that last thing he had been thinking about, before…?

Slamming Potter's head into the wall. Right.

"I don't have time to wait," he snapped. "I have my _real_ life to get back to, Potter. I know that you don't think this is a big deal, but _I_ do. To be honest, I'm not even sure you want to get out of this mess. For all I know, maybe you love all of this new attention they're throwing your way. In fact, I wouldn't…"

The next thing he knew, his back hit a hard, cold surface with a loud crash. It took him a few seconds to realize that Potter somehow had grabbed him, spun him around and slammed him into the wall. Potter's hands were like vices, his fingers digging into the skin on Draco's wrists, holding him in place. Their roles were reversed. Draco was at Potter's mercy now.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy," Potter snarled, green eyes burning with fury. He was literally pushing Draco up the wall – their bodies were pressed together so tightly that Draco could feel Potter's rapid pulse against his own chest. Or maybe it was Draco's own pulse that was racing so fast. It was hard to tell with Potter's breath tickling his cheek in an oddly distracting way.

"Maybe you're right about one thing, though" Potter said, fixing Draco's gaze with his own in that demanding way that made it impossible to look away. "Maybe I'm not really bothered about the crap that _The Prophet_ writes about me. It's not a big deal for me, Malfoy, because I've had worse. They've always made up stories about me, so I'm used to this."

His grip around Draco's wrist loosened a little, but Draco didn't dare to move. He didn't think his body would obey him if he tried anyway.

"Maybe you're right about that it's not a big deal for me," Potter repeated, "but… Malfoy, do you really think I enjoy watching what this is doing to you? Because I don't."

He fell silent, and Draco just stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

"I didn't know you cared," he finally said. He hoped his voice didn't sound as small in Potter's ears as it did in his own.

Potter released him then, arms dropping to his sides. The skin on Draco's wrists was tingling where Potter had touched him.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I do?" Potter said roughly, avoiding Draco's gaze as he took a small step backwards, creating some space between them. "I don't… I hate that I can't do anything to prevent this from hurting you. That's all."

Potter didn't want Draco to get hurt. Of course. This was just Potter's hero-complex speaking. He had always had a strange obsession with protecting those in need. Those who were weak.  
_  
And pathetic.  
_  
Potter was feeling sorry for him. Draco hated that.

"I don't need your protection, Potter" he finally responded. "I can take care of myself."

"I know."

"Then don't make me your charity case."

"I'm not trying to" Potter said testily. "I'm just…"

"Well, whatever you're doing, stop it" Draco interrupted him. He was angry, and, he hated to admit it, hurt. He already knew that everybody else on the planet thought of him as Potter's inferior. He hadn't known Potter did too.

Potter was clenching his fists, and Draco half-hoped he would finally snap and punch Draco back. Or at least do _something_. Draco didn't want Potter's pity.

But Potter didn't punch him. Instead, he grabbed Draco's by the shoulders so hard that it was painful. As they stared at each other, Potter's eyes were so dark and intense that Draco had to steel himself to refrain from looking away.

"Merlin, Malfoy" Potter said, his voice scraping at the back off his throat in a way that sent shivers down Draco's spine. "You just don't get it, do you?"

Before Draco could answer, or even register what happened, Potter closed the distance between them and kissed him.

It was the strangest sensation, feeling Potter's lips firmly pressed against his own – it was nothing like kissing Millicent or Pansy, or any of the other girls that Draco had kissed. He didn't know if that was because he was kissing a man, or if it was because the man he was kissing was Potter. Potter's lips were rough, even demanding, and Draco had no idea how he was supposed to react. A small voice in the back off his mind told him that this was disgusting, that he should feel repulsed and shove Potter away.

Another much louder voice told him something completely different.

However, it was all over very quickly, and Draco didn't have time to make up his mind before Potter pulled away. Draco suddenly realized he had been closing his eyes.

They stood there in silence for a few seconds, still dangerously close. Draco could feel his own pulse racing, and he didn't dare to move. Potter's gaze was fixed at Draco's mouth, and his own lips were formed into a thin line.  
_  
What the hell had just happened?_

Finally, Potter drew a sharp breath and let go of Draco's shoulders before taking two steps back, carefully avoiding Draco's eyes. The tension was so thick that you could have carved through it with a knife. Draco's mouth was still burning where Potter's lips had touched it.

"I'm… so sorry."

It was Potter who finally broke the silence. He was still looking away, his jaw clenched and his shoulders set, but Draco could se the regret burning behind the green irises.

"I shouldn't have… I don't know what I was thinking. I'm…"

"Sorry" Draco interrupted him, surprised to hear how cold and distant his own voice sounded. "You said that."

"Well, I am."

Draco closed his eyes. Why had Potter done that? What did it mean? And why wasn't Draco more upset? He should be terrified. Appalled. Furious.

Not… well, not whatever it was that he was feeling.

"Maybe you should go, Potter," he finally said.

That was reasonable – Draco needed some time alone to process this. Obviously, he couldn't think straight when Potter was around.

"I should" Potter agreed, his voice nearly inaudible. Draco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Potter had apparated away.

Draco's head was spinning. He sighed deeply and sank down to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. As he looked up, he spotted the brown paper bag with bagels that Potter had brought. It was lying on the floor on the other end of the room – Potter must have dropped it when Draco punched him. Draco summoned it with a small flick of his wand.

The bagels were rather crushed – Draco suspected he and Potter had been lying on them at some point – and as he helped himself to one, he noticed a few small newspapers clippings at the bottom of the bag. Frowning, he protracted one of the pieces, holding it up to the light so he could see it better. As he recognized what it was, his stomach did a small flip.

Potter had cut out the crosswords from all of the morning's papers and brought them over. Draco didn't know whether to laugh or cry.


	10. Out of exile

**Author's Notes:** Hey everybody, and thank you so much for the wonderful response on the previous chapter. As always, I can't put words on how much I appreciate your feedback. I know that this chapter is long overdue, but I've been so busy with school with final exams in all of my courses before the summer. Hopefully I'll get some more free time now, so that I can finish Chapter 10 faster.

I'd like to take the chance to direct a thank you to my wonderful friend Emy (Vendelin here on ) and dedicate this chapter to her. Without your support and honest feedback, I don't know what I would do. To all of you HP/DM-lovers out there – check out her fiction Glued. Pure brilliance.

I'm done talking now. Here's chapter nine, please let me know what you think :)

**Chapter 9 – Out of exile**  
_  
Never thought all this could expire  
Never thought you'd go break the chain_

Placebo, My Sweet Prince  
_  
"Step forward, Draco Malfoy."_

_Draco's heart stopped dead in is chest as he heard Voldemort's cold voice call out his name. He cast a glance at his mother's broken form on the floor, immediately wishing he hadn't. He was so terrified he barely dared to breathe._

_He had to stay focused. His father had trained him for this - he needed to keep his calm, and above all, he needed to be careful. The Dark Lord did not appreciate lies._

_He broke free from the crowd of dark-hooded figures, making his way towards the middle of the room. He stopped in front of Voldemort, carefully avoiding the other man's gaze that seemed to pierce right through him._

_"My Lord" he said, kneeling. He controlled the tone of his voice carefully, not letting any of the emotions that were raging inside of him betray him._

_"Draco Malfoy" Voldemort said softly. He sounded amused. "You refer to me as your Lord, and yet, you have still left to prove yourself to be a worthy servant. How…. interesting."_

_Draco suppressed a shiver, his mind working swiftly. He had been preparing for this moment his entire life. He was not going to succumb to fear._

_"My lord... my Lord must know that I only wish to serve…"_

_He knew immediately that he had made a mistake, and he didn't need to see Voldemort's face to understand that his eyes were blazing scarlet._

_"Silence! You will only speak when spoken to, young Malfoy. It seems that I will need to teach you some manners."_

_He understood what would happen before the curse hit him, but nothing, nothing could have prepared him for the unbearable pain that seemed to rip his body apart from the inside. He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood to prevent himself from screaming out loud._

_He didn't know for how long the curse had been on him when Voldemort finally stopped – it seemed like forever, but maybe it had only been a few minutes, or even seconds, when he collapsed on to the floor, his whole body shaking from the shock._

_"As I was saying," Voldemort said coolly, "you, young Malfoy, have not yet proven your loyalty towards me. However, let it not be said that the Dark Lord is not patient when patience is needed – you are only sixteen, after all."_

_He laughed, and the rest of the crowd joined in as Draco struggled to get back up on his knees, catching a glimpse of Narcissa's tousled hair in the corner of his eye. He could not lose now - he needed to stay strong for her._

_"I admit that I am… intrigued," Voldemort continued, "by what you may be able to offer me. One of Dumbledore's own students, could you imagine?" He was speaking to his Death Eaters now, and they all cheered in appreciation. "The old man would never know what struck him."_

_Draco kept quiet, fixing his gaze on to the floor. He wouldn't make the same mistake again._

_"Do you wish for me to become your Lord, in the true sense of the word?" Voldemort's voice was louder now – excited, even. "Are you as loyal towards me as my other servants? Do you think that you could serve me in a way that would make you worthy of being called one of my Death Eaters?"_

_It wasn't really a question, Draco knew that. It had never been his choice to make. This was the path that was staked out for him by his father, and likewise, this was the path he was going to follow._

_"I do, my Lord," he answered, certain that he was allowed to speak now. "I could not imagine a greater honour."_

_Voldemort laughed again, without joy._

_"You are frightened, young Malfoy" he said, sounding slightly amused. "You will never bring your family back to the good graces of Lord Voldemort if you let yourself be ruled by fear. Do you really believe that you are strong enough to be my servant?"_

_"I would not disappoint you, my Lord" Draco said, struggling to keep his voice under control. Beside him, Narcissa was stirring slightly, and Draco forced himself not to look. Voldemort would spot any sign of weakness. "I would serve you to the best of my abilities."_

_"We will see. Stand."_

_Draco did as he was told, and with some effort, he got to his feet. He could feel his pulse racing – he had no idea whether or not Voldemort was satisfied by his answers or not. Maybe this would be the end for him._

_"You are very much like your father" Voldemort said softly, twirling his wand between his long, slender fingers. "Lucius, however flawed he has proven to be, have taught you well."_

_Draco didn't dare to breathe. Had he passed the test?_

_"However" Voldemort continued, and Draco froze again, "I am not certain where your loyalties lie, young Malfoy. Look at me."_

_Draco barely had time to register what was about to happen, let alone prepare for it, when he met Voldemort's scarlet gaze. His surroundings abruptly vanished and he wasn't in the cellar anymore – vivid images, memories, started to race through his mind, and he couldn't fight it, couldn't resist – his own Occlumency skills were nothing compared to Voldemort's raw power. He saw his mother – not lying defeated on the cold stone floor, but coming towards him, smiling… no, it wasn't his mother, it was Pansy, and they were dancing at The Yule Ball… now he was standing in front of his father who was gazing at him sternly as he handed over Draco's first broomstick, warning him not to disappoint him…_

_The next time the image changed, Potter was there. They were standing in Draco's kitchen, too close, and suddenly, it wasn't a memory anymore, and Draco really _was_ standing there, his back pressed tightly against the wall, heat of Potter's body radiating against his own skin._

_"Potter" Draco said, uncertain. "How did…"_

_"Merlin, Malfoy, you just don't get it, do you?"_

_The next second, Potter was kissing him just like he had done before, making Draco think for a second that it was just a memory after all, that he was still stuck in that cold cellar and that Voldemort was still reading his every thought. But it felt so real, the way that Potter's lips curled against his own and the way that Draco's pulse raced faster and faster making his heart beat painfully hard against his chest. Draco was safe, Voldemort couldn't hurt him anymore, and Potter was there – Potter who had promised him that everything would be all right again. Draco didn't know how it happened, but suddenly, Potter was the one with his back against the wall, and Draco was pushing against him, opening his mouth and kissing Potter fiercely back. He slid his hand to the back of Potter's neck, curling his fingers around thick, wild hair, and Potter was angling his body so that their hips were crashing together - it simply couldn't be a memory, because this was like nothing that Draco had ever experienced before – and Potter's tongue was so warm and inviting, and…_

Draco's eyes flew wide open.

His heart felt as though it was trying to escape from his chest, and it took him a few confusing seconds to realize that he was lying in his bed, and that his nightmare had returned again. Blurry images from the night were flickering before his eyes, and he blinked hard, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to grasp exactly what the dream had been about. Voldemort had been there, of course – and his mother. He had a vague feeling that Pansy and his father had made appearances as well, and there had definitely been something about a broomstick. And then there had been… Draco's eyes widened in realization.

Potter had been there, and he had… no, _Draco_ had been…

Oh Merlin.

He sat up straight, shielding his eyes from the sunlight that was streaming in from the small window – at least he had slept through the entire night. Not that the fact that it was daytime helped him to deal with the million thoughts and questions that were spinning around in his head.

It was one thing that his subconscious mind had recreated that… _thing _that had happened between him and Potter yesterday. That was fine – natural, even. But where had the rest come from? As far as Draco could remember, he had most definitely _not_ _kissed Potter back_.

Admittedly, he hadn't put up much of a resistance when Potter had approached him, but that had to be more due to the sheer shock than anything else. The important thing was that he hadn't responded to the kiss in any way, and it made no sense for him to dream that he had.

Then again, dreams didn't have to mean anything. People dreamed about nonsensical things all the time, and maybe Draco was just being over analytical. After all, the alternative, that his mind subconsciously was trying to tell him that he in any way _wanted_ Potter was… just bizarre. Impossible. Outrageous.

And yet, he couldn't get the image of Potter's kiss-swollen lips out of his head.

Desperate for a distraction, Draco got up from his bed and dressed quickly before going in to the kitchen where he made himself a large cup of tea. Drinking tea, however, didn't keep his mind from wandering at all – in his head, he kept repeating the scene where he was throwing himself all over Potter, and it was driving him insane. Abruptly abandoning his half empty cup, Draco stood  
up again, restlessly scanning his kitchen for an appropriate way to keep himself busy.

Four hours later, he had cleaned his entire apartment three times, finished the crosswords Potter had brought him and rearranged all of the furniture in his kitchen twice. He had even scanned the latest issue of _The Prophet_ for the article he knew Duncan Robbins had written about him, although he had come up short on that one. It seemed like Robbins was waiting for the right time to publish the scoop, which suited Draco well – he wasn't too eager on reading the piece of rubbish that Robbins had come up with anyway.

But what was he supposed to do now? It suddenly dawned on Draco what an immensely boring life he had been living for the past few years – was this really all that he normally occupied himself with when he wasn't working? Was cleaning the apartment like a common house elf really the best that he could come up with?

He could always go outside, he supposed. A nice long walk normally did the job of clearing his mind of disturbing thoughts, and Draco was in desperate need of some fresh air. He knew that it was probably unwise of him to leave the apartment due to the risk of running in to another journalist, but he just couldn't bear the thought of staying inside for another minute. He was almost beginning to feel as though the walls of his kitchen were closing in on him, and he decisively went to the hall and grabbed his coat.

It was much warmer outside than it had been the other day and the welcoming sunrays felt like soft caresses against Draco's skin. Deciding not to push his luck, he pulled up the collar of his coat to partly hide his face, which probably made him look totally ridiculous but would also make it harder for any lurking reporters to recognize him.

As he was walking aimlessly down the street, he wondered what he would say if another reporter would corner him like Robbins had done. Maybe _"Oh, the current status of my relationship with Harry Potter? Well, he kissed me the other day, and tonight I had a highly disturbing dream involving me shoving my tongue down Potter's throat. You know, nothing out of the ordinary.", _or_ "Yes, you were right all along. Apparently, I have this huge thing for men with glasses and impossible hair. Funny how the entire world found out before I did." _

He snorted to himself, which made an elderly woman that he passed by give him an odd glance. It would almost be worth it just to see the look on their faces.

Draco had almost been out for an hour when he realized the sun had disappeared – it was suddenly very chilly, and dark clouds were quickly gathering above him. Realizing he would probably do best to return home before the weather struck, Draco swept his coat more tightly around his torso and started to walk back in the direction that he had come from. However, he didn't get very far until he felt the first wet drop splash against his forehead, and before long, it had started to rain heavily.

Cursing himself for not having enough sense to bring an umbrella, he scanned the street for some form of shelter from the downpour. He spotted a small alley, the overhanging roof offering a limited sort of protection under which he decided to wait out the shower. Leaning against the hard brick wall, his whole coat soaked in wet, cold rain, he felt more miserable then ever, wishing he had never thought of the idea to leave the apartment. He seemed to be making all the wrong decisions lately.

"So, who are we hiding from?" a soft voice from his left suddenly said.

Draco turned around quickly, surprised that he wasn't alone. The voice belonged to a rather tall woman his own age who was standing in the doorway to a small coffee shop. Her long, blonde hair was pulled into a thick braid that was hanging over her left shoulder, and she was wearing a long, loose-fitted dress with an excessively colourful floral pattern. Her large, silvery grey eyes where open and curious, reminding Draco slightly of Luna Lovegood. Then, he also remembered the last time he had seen Luna, locked up in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, and his throat closed up.

"Excuse me?" he said coolly, carefully excluding the sudden emotion the memory of Luna had evoked from his voice. He glanced down and noticed that his intruder was bare-feet, which made him wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"Your outfit" the woman explained, making a gesture towards Draco's dark coat and black trousers. "All black, and with that collar hiding your face… very inconspicuous."

Draco could feel himself blush slightly, and gave the her a venomous glare.

"I'm not hiding," he said shortly, pointedly folding his arms across his chest and turning away from her.

The woman, however, didn't seem too taken aback by his hostile attitude.

"Right, of course you're not" she said, sounding a little disappointed. "It's just… it would have been really cool if you had been some sort of super-spy, you know? Working for the MI6 or something, like James Bond, maybe out on a secret mission to protect the government. I could have been your side kick."

Draco gave her a questioning glance – clearly, she was insane, but he had to admit that he was curious.

"James who?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

She just laughed.

"You're funny" she said as-a-matter-of-factly. "I still think you would have been much cooler if you really were a spy, though. Anyway, I'm Rachel."

She was holding the doorframe open with her shoulder, stretching out her hand for Draco to shake. He took it apprehensively.

"Draco Malfoy."

She didn't even raise an eyebrow at his name, which Draco had to provide her bonus points for – most muggles laughed or at least made a stupid face the first time he mentioned it.

"You look very cold, Draco Malfoy," she said, pushing the door a little further open. "It seems like the rain might stick around for a while, so why don't you come inside? I'll make you a cup of coffee and then you can tell me all about not being a spy."

Draco hesitated for a second – this girl was completely out of her mind, and a muggle at that. It was true that Draco had lived among them for more than four years, but that didn't mean that he had to like them. He still didn't trust most of them, especially not mentally disoriented strangers that spoke of weird things like James Blonde. But then he remembered that Rachel had offered him free coffee, and that was simply too good of an offer to turn down, so he followed her inside.

The shop was really cramped with large, mahogany shelves packed with a wide selection of different coffee- and tea blends filling up most of the already limited space. Rachel gestured for Draco to sit down in an old sagging armchair by a small wooden table before disappearing behind one of the shelves. Draco could hear her rummaging through the different jars in search for the right blend as he leaned back in the chair, finding it to be surprisingly comfortable in spite of its battered look.

"You'll like this one, it's got a real kick to it" Rachel said cheerfully, reappearing with a large jar filled with grinded coffee beans. She placed the jar on the small counter by the right wall and started fiddling with an old fashioned-looking coffee machine, and shortly afterwards, she had placed two large cups of steaming hot coffee on the table in front of Draco.

"Thank you" Draco said politely, grabbing one of the cups as Rachel sat down in the armchair opposite of him. He hummed in appreciation as he took his first sip from the cup, savouring the rich, slightly spicy and sweet taste.

Rachel grinned at him, sipping carefully on her own cup.

"Good, right?"

Draco nodded.

"Just what I needed."

Rachel crossed her legs and placed her cup on the table, leaning backwards in her chair.

"So, what brings you to this part of town, Draco Malfoy?" she asked, peering curiously at him from under her long eyelashes. "I haven't seen you around before, and now you're suddenly showing up soaking wet on the threshold of my shop. Are you new in the neighbourhood?"

"Well, no, I actually live quite a few blocks from here" Draco answered, stretching out his legs. "I was just out for a walk in the sun, but I guess I got lost in thoughts and didn't notice the rainclouds until it was too late."

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows.

"I wouldn't have thought of you as the kind of guy who just gets lost in his own thoughts like that though" she mused. "I don't know, you just don't seem that easily distraught to me."

Draco was surprised at her answer – he hadn't met a girl that was quite this straightforward before, and that was even counting Pansy.

"Well, usually I'm not" he admitted. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

"Let me guess… girl trouble?"

Draco almost choked on his coffee.

"_No_" he said, glowering angrily at her as she laughed at his reaction. "I don't have _girl trouble_, I just…"

He paused, and an idea struck him. Admittedly, this woman was rather weird, and she _was_ a muggle, but she didn't seem like the judgemental type. Maybe Draco could tell her the whole story, or at least parts of it. After all, he had longed for a way to get out of his own head, and what better way to do just that than to confide in someone else? He didn't even have to see her again. It was the perfect opportunity.

"Well, I'm actually having some issues with this friend of mine" he explained slowly. "We had a… disagreement the other day, and I just… I'm just not sure where we stand right now."

"Oh, I see" she said conspicuously. "A f_riend_, I get it. Go on."

Draco rolled his eyes at her before continuing:

"We went to school together a couple of years back, and during that time, we weren't exactly friendly towards one another. I guess you could say we where rivals – enemies, even. Anyway, we graduated four years ago, and we hadn't seen each other since then. Until a few weeks ago when he came looking for me at the pub where I work."

Rachel leaned slightly forwards, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"And when you saw each other again, love struck instantly, and you realized there was no point in denying it?" she asked hopefully. "Oh, I think I like this story."

Draco resisted the urge of kicking her under the table.

"No, of course not" he said impatiently. "But something strange happened, and after that, we decided that we wanted to try and become friends. I never thought it would work, but the funny thing is that it kind of did. At some point, I think we actually started to enjoy each others company, but then we had this argument that I mentioned earlier, and well… I'm just not sure how to solve it."

Rachel was eyeing him thoughtfully.

"What were you arguing about?" she asked at last. "There has to be some way to make things all right again. If he came looking for you after four years in spite of you two being enemies and tried to befriend you, I don't think you will get rid of him that easily."

Draco hesitated. It really shouldn't make a difference if he told Rachel about the kiss, but for some reason, it just didn't feel right.

"Nothing important" he decided. "It was just… nothing."

"Well" Rachel said firmly, "if it wasn't important, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, right? You'll probably make up in no time."

"But…"

"If I were you, I would apologize, though" Rachel continued, ignoring him completely. "That would make the whole making up-part a lot easier."

Draco glared at her.

"Who said that I was the one who did something wrong?" he said irritably. "Because I _didn't_, it was…"

"Does it really matter who did what?" Rachel said, taking a careful sip of her coffee. "Sorry is just a word, after all, and if saying it could make things right between the two of you again, why wouldn't you?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Draco snapped.

"That's possible" Rachel admitted, "but from where I'm standing, you're looking lonely and miserable as hell, and I don't see any reason for you to stay that way when the solution might be as simple as a small apology. Just saying."

Draco stared at her, preparing to snap at her again. But then he realized that Rachel actually, Merlin forbid, had a point. There was even no point in denying that Draco really wanted to make up with Potter again, because he did. He just wanted things to go back to normal. Maybe an apology, even though Draco technically hadn't done anything wrong, would do that.

"That" he answered slowly, "actually makes a tiny bit of sense. Just barely."

Rachel grinned.

"I know it does," she said smugly. "I'm a genius. I told you I would make an excellent side kick."

Draco reluctantly smiled back.

"I guess you would," he agreed, emptying his cup. The last swig was lukewarm and left a bitter taste on his tongue.

"Well, would you look at that" Rachel suddenly said, gesturing towards the window. "The rain stopped. I guess you're free to go home."

Draco stood up and stretched out his body leisurely.

"Yes, it's getting late" he admitted, and Rachel also rose from her chair. "Thank you for the coffee, it was delicious."

"Oh, it was nothing" Rachel said, waving her hand dismissively as she followed him to the door. "I couldn't just have ignored what possibly could have been the next James Bond standing on my doorstep in desperate need for aid, now could I?"

Deciding not to point out that he had _not_ been in desperate need for aid at all, Draco waved goodbye and pushed the door open.

"You should come by again," Rachel blurted out just as he stepped over the threshold. "I mean… if you ever happen to be in the neighbourhood again. You could give me an update on your whole old-nemesis-but-now-kind-of-friend-situation. You know, if you want."

Draco turned around, surprised to see that she was blushing. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"I might just take you up on that offer," he answered, surprised to realize that he meant it. Rachel actually didn't seem so bad after all – admittedly, he still thought she was absolutely insane, but she was quite entertaining. And Draco could certainly use some entertainment in his life.

"Goodbye then" she said, smiling.

"Goodbye."

The door closed behind him, and Draco started on his long walk home with something resembling a smile on his face. For the first time that day, he thought that things might just be all right after all.


	11. You got me

**Author's Notes: **Finally, another new chapter! As usual, I want to thank all of you who reviewed the last chapter for your amazing support. I've said it before, but your feedback really keeps me going! I'm trying to answer all of your reviews, but I keep forgetting which ones I've already answered. Sorry about that, I'll try and work on it for sure :)  
I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!****

* * *

Chapter 10 – You got me

"Just go in there and tell him you're sorry. It's not that hard. You just need to knock on the door, and then he'll open, and you can apologize. Just do it."  
_  
Talking to yourself is never a good sign._

Draco was standing outside the door to Potter's apartment, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. All he had to do was take one step forward, raise his fist and tap the door, and get the apology over with. He had gotten an O on his Potions O.W.L:s, for Merlin's sake – this shouldn't be that hard in comparison.

And still, he couldn't do it.

Rachel's advice had seemed brilliant at the time, but then Draco had gone to sleep and that same horrible nightmare-slash-sexual-fantasy-dream had appeared again, and when he had woken up, seeing Potter suddenly seemed just about as tempting as facing a blood-thirsty chimera.

He had pushed on this visit for as long as he could. When the initial stress from dreaming about Potter had worn off, he had begun to think that maybe Potter would be the one to take the first step - after all, Potter had initiated most of their previous meetings. But Potter hadn't showed up during the first day. Or the second, or third. Draco had felt more pathetic than ever, looming around his apartment waiting for a visitor that never showed up. And as if the days weren't bad enough, the dream returned every single night, only featuring less of Voldemort's Cruciatus curse, and more of Draco's tongue shoved down Potter's throat. It had to be his subconsciousness trying to make him confront Potter, Draco's was sure of it. If they became friends again, the dreams would disappear – it was on the most logical solution Draco could think of, and that was why he was here. He really needed the dreams to _stop_.

He took a deep breath and a decisive step forward.

"Here goes," he whispered, curling his hand into a fist and raised it.

Before he could knock, however, the door swung open, and Ron Weasley was standing in the doorway, his back turned against Draco and with one hand resting on the door handle. Draco quickly dropped his hand and set his face to the disdainful scowl he had always reserved for the Weasley's.

"Hey, Harry, hurry up. You know how 'Mione hates it when we're late" Weasley shouted back into the apartment, before turning around. His nose wrinkled in distaste as he spotted Draco, and he quickly crossed his arm over his chest, his jaw tense.

"Malfoy. What a nice surprise" he said through gritted teeth, eyeing Draco with a look of deepest loathing that Draco wasn't late to return.

"I wish I could say the same, Weasley" he replied coolly, smirking in satisfaction as an angry blush to match his ridiculous hair started to spread across the other man's cheeks. He had forgotten how easy it was to wind Weasley up.

He didn't respond to Draco's insult though, and for a few seconds they just stood there, glaring at each other with as much contempt as they could muster. Draco felt a little more pathetic when he realized that this was the most fun that he had had since his encounter with Rachel.

"Hey, do you think Hermione will go for Italian today?" Potter's voice rang through the silence, and Draco could hear his footsteps coming closer towards them. "I'm really in the mood for… oh."

He fell silent as he spotted Draco, quickly looking away, and Draco's heart sank. Obviously, Potter was not the least bit relieved to see him. Draco hadn't exactly expected Potter to jump with joy at the sight of him, but if Potter had been the one to visit _him_, Draco would have at least been a little bit glad to see him.

"Hey Malfoy" Potter finally said, his voice strained. He grabbed his coat from one of the hangers and distractedly ran a hand through his already messy hair. "We we're just going out to lunch."

"I can see that, Potter" Draco answered, trying to catch Potter's eye. He had come this far, and he wasn't about to back down now. "But I need to talk to you."  
Weasley glared at him.

"We're in a hurry," he snapped, pushing past Draco towards the stairs.

Draco ignored him, keeping his gaze focused on Potter.

"Just a quick word" he urged. "It's important."

Potter glanced at him swiftly before looking away again.

"It's okay Ron," he said, as Weasley opened his mouth to probably snap something imbecilic again. "You should go meet Hermione, I'll catch up in a minute."

Ron snorted, shooting Draco one last murderous glare before making a big scene out of walking down the stairs, his furious footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

"What do you want?" Potter said when the sound of Ron slamming the front door shut finally reached them. His voice was cold and distant, his tone much like the one Draco usually sported when he was trying to convince people that he couldn't care less of what they were speaking about. Draco took a deep breath.

"I wanted to… _apologize_" he said, his heavy exhale almost concealing the word. "I mean… I'm sorry Potter. There. I said it. Could we go back to normal now?"

He realized he had been speaking uncharacteristically fast, but right now, he couldn't be bothered to care about that. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, and his mouth felt strangely dry  
when Potter finally met his gaze with a prominent frown.

"You're_ apologizing_?" he said in disbelief, his mouth twisting in to a scorn. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Malfoy. Why are you doing this?"

Draco glared at him, his temper slowly rising - he had been dreading this moment for days. He had spent countless hours trying to collect enough courage. Apologies didn't come easy for Malfoy's, and yet, he had done it. He had almost backed out, but he _had_ done it. And this was all that Potter could give him?

"Well, I… you… we… you're upset, right!" he blurted out, cursing himself as he felt the blush spread across his cheeks. Trust Potter to make Draco lose his composure like this. "I'm _bloody sorry_,  
Potter! I'm apologizing. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Er" Potter said eloquently, and Draco glared some more.

"I'm being the bigger man here, Potter," he snapped. "I'm being - what do you Gryffindors call it? – _noble_, or whatever. Let me have that, for Merlin's sake."

The corner of Potter's mouth twitched, but the half-smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You're being noble?"

"Very much so. Now accept my damn apology, or I will hex you."

More twitching.

"You are actually threatening me to make me accept your apology?" Potter asked. "Noble indeed."

"Just do it" Draco growled murderously.

"All right" Potter held up his hands. "I accept your apology, Malfoy. Happy now?"

His voice was a tiny bit warmer now, but still on guard.

"That depends" Draco said, locking eyes with Potter. "Are we friends again?"

Potter, to Draco's great relief, didn't look away this time. Instead, his green gaze met Draco's with such a forceful intensity that Draco wondered if relief really was the most appropriate feeling for  
him to have when Potter was looking at him like that. He wondered how Potter managed to do that, how he could make Draco feel so damn exposed and insecure just by flashing him a look. _That_ look. Distractedly, Draco licked his lips and tried to keep his discomfort away from his eyes.

"Are you serious?" Potter finally said suspiciously, knitting his eyebrows together. "I mean… aren't you going to yell at me?"

"Why would I yell?" Draco said, forcing his voice to sound light and unbothered. Potter, however, looked at him as if there was something seriously wrong with him. Draco had to admit that it wasn't completely unreasonable of Potter to question Draco's behaviour. After all, Draco had punched Potter in the face for less obvious reasons before.

"Aren't you mad at me?" Potter asked, his brow still furrowed. "After all, I did ki…."

"No, I'm not mad at all!" Draco interrupted loudly. Hoping that Potter wouldn't notice the slightly panicky edge to his voice, he quickly added: "In fact, I'm the opposite of mad."  
Potter's mouth fell open.

"Do you mean… you _liked_…?"

Draco's eyes went wide in realization as his former implication sunk in, and he desperately tried to fight down a blush.

"_No!_" he cried out hastily, and Potter, thank Merlin, closed his mouth again, biting down on his lip. "I mean… it wasn't that I didn't like… it's just… damn it."

Draco stopped himself there. This was obviously no time to discuss whether or not he had approved of Potter's kissing-abilities. Deciding to keep his treacherous mouth shut for a while, Draco stared helplessly at Potter, who looked entirely as confused as Draco felt.

"Um" Potter said uncertainly, and Draco thought that for once, they completely agreed on something.

"Could we just forget about it and go back to normal?" Draco finally said, when both of them had refused to speak for what seemed like several minutes. "It doesn't have to be a big deal."

As if all of Draco's Potter-centred dreams hadn't already made it a _huge_ deal.

"Forget about it" Potter repeated tonelessly. "Right."

He was looking away again, and Draco suddenly wondered _why_ Potter had kissed him in the first place. Draco had thought about it swiftly a few times since it happened, but whenever his mind had wandered off to that subject, he had been quick to distract himself. It had been confusing enough trying to figure out what his own thoughts and dreams meant – he hadn't been too keen on the prospect of diving into the mystery that was Harry Potter's brain at the same time. Admittedly, Draco still wasn't sure he wanted to do that – he had a feeling that it would be like opening the lid to a box that he wouldn't be able to close again. However, something about Potter's expression and the tone, or lack thereof, of Potter's voice made him curious again.

A part of him wanted to ask Potter, but another part, a much more dominant one, was afraid of the answer. Besides, asking Potter why he had done it conflicted with Draco's first strategy – the one where he promptly tried to ignore that the kiss had ever happened – and being a Slytherin, Draco thought that it was probably wise to stick to the original plan.

"Friends, then?" he asked instead, firmly pushing the prickling curiosity aside.

Potter smiled ruefully and nodded, and even though it wasn't half as good as the smiles that Draco kind of had gotten used to, it would have to suffice. For now.

"I need to catch up with Ron and Hermione for lunch now, though" Potter said, glancing down at his wristwatch. He gave Draco an apologetic glance. "I'd invite you, but…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter" Draco interrupted. "You don't have to make apologies for having lunch with your other friends without me. I'd rather die before being caught having lunch with those two anyway."

"Right" Potter replied curtly, brushing past Draco on his way out the door. "Want me to bring today's crosswords over when we've finished eating, then?"

Potter had his back turned against him, so Draco didn't even bother trying to hide his smile.

"I guess," he answered, forcing his voice to sound nonchalant. "See you later?"

"Later" Potter echoed as he disappeared down the stairs after locking the door. Draco waited, listening to Potter's hurried footsteps and the eventual opening and closing of the entrance door, before finally apparating home.

* * *

Well, it could have gone _worse_. At least that was what Draco was telling himself as he threw his shirt on to his cold bathroom floor and entered the shower. Admittedly, everything hadn't gone exactly according to plan, and Draco rather wished he could take some of the things he had said _back,_ but still. They were friends again. Mission accomplished.

He stepped in to the shower, turning up the heat just above his own body temperature before stepping under the feeble stream. The tepid water felt soothing against his skin, and he allowed himself to close his eyes and just relish in the feel of water splashing against his cheeks.

A sense of accomplishment and satisfaction washed over him as he realized that last night probably would have been the last night he had dreamed about Potter. Now that he had followed the signs that his subconsciousness had laid out for him and confronted Potter, the nightmares wouldn't bother him anymore. Never again would he be forced to feel his own tongue scraping the back of Potter's throat, or the other man's narrow hipbones crashing against his own, or Potter's hard chest underneath his fingers… he swallowed as he remembered the last dream, which had been the most vivid one yet. As usual, he had been pushing Potter up the wall, kissing him fervently as Potter moaned against his lips in a way that probably should have been made illegal. Draco's shirt had been open, and Potter's hands had been flying across his torso at lightning speed, as though he had wanted to make sure that not a single inch of skin were left untouched. And then, in a sudden impulse, one of Draco's hands had found its way to the waistline of Potter's jeans, unbuttoning them with trembling fingers, and…

Draco's eyes snapped open in shock as he realized what he had just been thinking about.

The shock didn't subside even remotely when he realized how his _body_ had reacted to those very same thoughts.

He cursed out loud and his hand lashed out for the tap almost on its own accord, sharply turning it so that freezing cold water washed over the front of his body. He gasped and cringed at the discomfort, but the shock of the cold water had successfully calmed his body down, for which he was tremendously grateful. He then quickly rinsed his hair under the icy stream of water before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a washed out towel around his waist.

His heart was still beating frantically against his ribcage as he leaned heavily against the hand basin, gazing at his reflection in the slightly cracked bathroom mirror. The grey eyes that stared back at him were wide and filled with questions that Draco had no clue whatsoever how to answer.

He had, for once, no idea how to explain these resent turn of events. He had managed to wave away the dreams and he had been able to ignore the twinge of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he had thought that Potter would choose Granger and Weasley over him. He had made excuses for why thoughts of Potter constantly seemed to pop up in his mind whenever he didn't distract himself, and he hadn't dwelled on the lack of reproach he had felt when Potter had kissed him. All of those things had been explainable - rational, even. Or so Draco had thought.

This, however, was as far from rational as possible. This wasn't something that Draco could turn a blind eye to anymore, not when his body had ultimately picked up on the fact that his mind had tried to deny for weeks.

He stared into the mirror, his eyes narrowed.

"Fuck you, Potter," he groaned in defeat as the realization finally sunk in.  
_  
Oh, you wish._

* * *

As Draco got dressed – he changed his clothes five times before finally deciding on a pair of dark jeans and a simple cornflower blue shirt – he idly wondered if this was the universe's way of punishing him for his misdeeds in the past. As if it wasn't bad enough to be shunned by the whole wizarding community and lose all of his belongings to the Ministry and seeing his parents locked up in jail – he had to turn out to be a homosexual as well. Although it wasn't so much the gay-part that bothered him - it was the oh-Merlin-I-have-a-big-crush-on-Harry-Potter-part that was the worst. When Draco thought about it, he wasn't even sure that he actually _was_ gay – he couldn't remember ever having sexual feelings for a man before, and he had enjoyed his fair share of sexual experiences, some more pleasant than others, with several women.  
_  
Maybe I'm just Potter-sexual,_ he thought dully as he pulled up the zipper on his pants, although that particular thought wasn't remotely comforting.

Potter wasn't even all that attractive to begin with. Sure, he had a decent smile - infectious, always making it next to impossible for Draco not to smile back. His eyes were all right too, Draco supposed, although they weren't as much traditionally beautiful as they were intense and expressive. And then there was Potter's torso, which Draco hadn't even realized he had paid any attention to until he thought of Potter's broad chest and how firm it had felt under Draco's back that night Potter had comforted him after his nightmare… Draco drew a sharp breath – best not to think about himself lying curled up in a sofa next to a half-naked Potter right now.

So, Potter did have some redeeming qualities, but the fact remained that he was a self-righteous git with ridiculous hair and stupid glasses. It was true that they had gotten along rather nicely these past few weeks, but this was still a man that Draco had hated for the better part of his life. Potter was still _Potter _who could drive Draco right up the wall on any given day of the week, and chances were that he would enjoy doing so.

Maybe that was it, though. People always said that there was a fine line between love and hate, and as horrible cliché it might be, perhaps Draco was just now finding out exactly how fine that line could be.

He shook his head – he wasn't even close to ready to admit that he was _in love_ with Potter. The sexual tension was quite hard to ignore, but genuine affection? That was something completely different. They weren't even on first name-basis with each other, and if Draco had something to say about it, it wasn't likely that they would ever be. Calling Potter _Harry_ would just be too rich.

In any case, this was not an appropriate time to think about that, Draco decided. It had been several hours since he had come home, and Potter was likely to show up at his doorstep at any minute. Draco didn't know exactly how he would do it, but one thing was certain – he had to ask Potter about the kiss. His previous strategy of ignoring it completely had proven to be insufficient, and he desperately needed a new approach. Besides… Draco knew something about his feelings for Potter now that he hadn't done earlier. Now, he needed to know what that kiss had been about.

He sat down at his kitchen table to wait for Potter, figuring it wouldn't be long. After all, Potter had said he would come over right after lunch.

After twenty minutes, he made himself a cup of tea to distract himself from the nagging thoughts in the back of his head. When he finished it, he immediately made another.

After three cups, his bladder was full and he needed to go to the bathroom. Afterwards, he felt a little irritated that Potter was keeping him waiting, but then he realized that Weasley and Granger probably were hassling him as usual. He spent the next three cups reminiscing in his favourite memories of Weasley getting humiliated - unsurprisingly, the one where Weasley's wand had backfired and made him vomit slugs had come out on top.

After his fourth toilet-visit and innumerable cups of tea later, Draco started to get angry, thinking that Potter better have a damn good explanation ready for when he decided to show up.

It took him one more hour after that to realize that Potter wasn't coming at all.

He didn't know exactly how many hours he had waited, but the sun had already started to go down and there was simply no way that Potter was still having lunch. Draco's grip tightened around the cup as he tried to swallow down the disappointment and hurt from the realization that Potter had stood him up.

He stood up, his hand trembling ever so slightly when he put down his half-empty cup on the table. Instinctively, he folded his arms across his chest, staring blankly out the window on the deserted street below.

Potter had lied to him from the very beginning, he realized that now. All of that rubbish about them being friends, all the plans that they had made, it had been nothing but empty and treacherous words. Potter hadn't meant any of it, not even…

Draco swallowed when he thought about the kiss. It was painfully clear why Potter had done it now.

Potter had planned all of this. He had never intended to stay true to his word and keep being Draco's "friend" after Granger and Weasley had welcomed him back into their arms. Potter had just needed someone to help him catch the attention of his old friends again, and Draco had been foolish enough to fall for it. Of course, the kiss had only been a cheap attempt of Potter to scare Draco away, to avoid confrontation. That explained why he had been so uncomfortable when Draco had showed up earlier – he had probably counted on Draco being so repulsed by the kiss that he wouldn't want anything else to do with Potter.

It all fit so perfectly. Potter didn't want Weasley to, Merlin forbid, think that he and Draco were still friends, so he had told Draco what he had wanted to hear just to get rid of him. He hadn't actually planned on following through with his promise.

In hindsight, it was so obvious that Potter had used him from the beginning, and Draco couldn't believe his own stupidity. Not only had he failed to see through Potter's cruel game, but he had also managed to fall for the idiot in the process. His father had raised him to believe that trusting people and letting them get close was a weakness. Draco had never fully appreciated how right Lucius had been until now.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to shut down the storm of emotions that where raging inside his head, but it was impossible. Instead, he choose to focus on the least complex of those feelings, the one that he was most familiar with.

Anger. Red-hot, seething, all-consuming fury, ready to be unleashed at his will.

He clenched his fists, and with a sharp turn, he stormed out from his kitchen to the entrance hall where he blasted up the front door with a flick of his wand. Without bothering to grab his coat, he bolted through the doorway, the door slamming shut automatically behind him.

He wasn't about to go running after Potter. The other man had made it clear that he didn't want anything else to do with Draco, and he was fine by that – if he could help it, he didn't want to see Potter ever again. Still, he needed someone to lash out on. Someone to blame. Knowing exactly whose fault this was, he set off in a sprint.

Rachel was going to pay.

_Please review and let me know what you think of how the story is progressing! :)_


	12. Your own disaster

**Author's note: **This chapter is waaay overdue, and I sincerely apologize. I recently started school, my first year studying at university level, and I'm sad to say that school takes up a lot more time than I expected it to. I will try to finish the next chapter sooner, but when it comes down to it, my studies are my main priorities at the moment.  
Enough with the boring stuff - once again, I would like to thank all of you who have taken your time to read, and above all, review this story so far. Your support literally means everything to me, and without you, I would never have been able to finish this chapter at all. It is a little longer than the previous ones, I hope you'll enjoy :)

* * *

**  
Chapter 11 – Your own disaster**

He was moving swiftly, barely aware of his surroundings – his mind was all but consumed by the blistering rage that was building up inside his chest. The sounds from the streets he passed through were muffled by his own frantic pulse, which was turning into a deafening roar that was ringing through his ears. He thought a few people were looking at him funny when he passed them, but he couldn't be sure – he didn't pay them much attention.

It was freezing outside, but since his body was warm from moving, he hardly noticed anymore. The only reminder of the state of the weather was the sharp pain in his chest each time he drew a breath and the ice-cold air filled his lungs.

It didn't take him nearly as long to arrive to the neighbourhood where Rachel's shop was located as he remembered, although it was probably more due to the fact that he hadn't been running last time than anything else. He was a bit taken aback by the fact that he was already there – he hadn't had enough to time to figure out what he was going to say yet, and it wasn't in his nature to come unprepared. Normally this would have made him pause to think, but now, he was too furious to care.

Draco spotted Rachel through the window as he walked towards her shop with resolute steps. She was standing by one of the shelves next to a middle-aged man that seemed to be a customer. Rachel was holding one jar with coffee beans in one hand and gesticulating wildly with both, and the man kept throwing nervous glances at the hand holding the jar, as though he was afraid Rachel would accidentally throw it in his face.

Draco burst in through the door, leaving no room for hesitation, and Rachel turned around immediately at the sound. Her face split up in a surprised grin as she spotted Draco in the doorway.

"Draco!" she burst out happily. "I didn't expect to see you here so soon again!"

She put the jar back on one of the shelves and looked at him expectantly, completely oblivious to the hostile energy that was oozing out from every pore of Draco's body. Seeing Rachel just standing there with that stupid, cheerful smile on her face day made him feel, if possible, even angrier. She was the one who had pushed him to go through with that stupid apology. If it hadn't been for her, Draco would never had gone over to Potter's place and he wouldn't have made such an utter fool out of himself. An irrational part of Draco's brain even thought that Rachel was the one to blame for his whole I'm-gay-for-Harry-Potter-realization, even though the more sensible part of him knew that the very idea was ridiculous. Still, Rachel had helped Potter to rob what little dignity Draco had had left, and yet, she was standing there _smiling_, acting as if there wasn't a care in the world, as if Draco's visit just hade made her entire day.

Draco couldn't stand it. He was going to make sure that Rachel never smiled like that because of him again.

"Don't get used to it," he snapped, wincing a little upon hearing how shrill his voice sounded.

Not very threatening – he was off to a bad start.

Rachel frowned and took a few steps towards him, eyeing him hesitantly. The customer, who had picked up on Draco's unfriendly vibe much sooner than Rachel, seemed to take this as his cue to leave. He mumbled something apologetic to Rachel before hastily brushing past Draco on his way out.

"Are you upset?" Rachel asked slowly, her smile completely gone now when she was closer and had gotten a good look on Draco's face.

Draco laughed tonelessly.

"Stating the obvious, are we?" he said coolly, his voice still not sounding quite like his own.

Rachel ignored the remark, taking a few cautious steps closer.

"What happened?"

Her hand reached out for his arm as though she wanted to reassure him, but Draco took a quick step backwards.

"Don't touch me!" he spat, and Rachel let her hand drop slowly to her side. She was watching him attentively, but there was no fear or hurt in her eyes. She didn't look pitiful or worried either,  
which was a relief – she seemed merely curious.

"You went to see your friend, didn't you?" she said softly. "Hang on, I'll get you some coffee."

"I don't want your stupid coffee" Draco said acidly, but Rachel had already disappeared behind one of the shelves again. Feeling stupid just standing there, he reluctantly sat down in the familiar armchair while waiting for Rachel to return.

He dwelled on the fact that this hadn't gone at all as expected. Draco had wanted to really lash out on Rachel – he wanted to swear and kick and scream at her, he wanted to insult her and make her every bit as miserable as he felt himself. Most of all, he realized, he wanted her to react. He wanted to fight her, and he wanted her to fight back.

Only it wasn't really her he wanted to fight.

He didn't speak to Rachel as she started mixturing with the coffee machine again. His initial fury was starting to subside, and even though he still blamed her for giving him that stupid advice, he didn't feel like shouting anymore.

"Here you go" Rachel finally said as she put down a chipped, flowery cup in front of him. "It's a different blend this time, I think you'll like it."

Draco didn't say thank you. Maybe he wasn't as angry anymore, but he still didn't want to be polite.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping on their respective cups. Draco watched as Rachel mindlessly twirled the cup between her slender hands in between every taste. He kept expecting her to slip up and drop it, but she never even spilled a drop.

"He was never my friend" he finally said, when the words had been building up inside him long enough for them just to burst out almost on their own accord. "He just used me so that his other friends would take him back. Can you believe I was stupid enough to fall for it?"

Rachel didn't answer – she didn't need to, because Draco didn't stop talking.

"I have no idea why I didn't understand… it never made sense, you know, for him to… never mind. The point was that I actually trusted him, even though I had all the reason not to. I can't believe that I actually apologized to him - mind you, that thing was entirely your fault. Serves me right, I guess, taking advice from a muggle… I mean, from a complete stranger."

Rachel showed no indication of even noticing that something was off with Draco's vocabulary, so he kept talking. He told Rachel about the time he had spent living with Potter, about the morning crosswords and Moby Dick and about Potter's unexplainable disappearances. He felt a little pathetic as he told her about always making dinner for when Potter came back home, but then again, who was she going to tell about it? He didn't trust Rachel, but talking to her about all of those things felt almost like writing in a journal that no one would ever know about. Besides, Rachel was an excellent listener. She didn't feel sorry for him, which was an enormous relief – she mostly just sat there, looking thoughtful as she kept slowly spinning the cup in her hands, sometimes interrupting him with small inquiries to make better sense of the story.

"You never did tell me why you where fighting in the first place though" she said, when Draco finally started to run out of things to say. "What did he do?"

Draco hesitated for a short second before making up his mind. He had practically told her everything already. What difference would it make?

"He kissed me," he said promptly, trying to ignore the sting at the memory. Rachel let out a small, surprised gasp.

"He did _what_?"

"Only to get rid of me," Draco added sullenly. "I guess he thought it would scare me away. It should have."

"That sounds stupid" Rachel interjected. "If he wanted to get rid of you, there must have been plenty of other methods he could have used?"

"This way, he wouldn't have had to feel guilty. Technically, _I_ was the one who rejected _him_, not the other way around."

Rachel didn't look convinced.

"It still sounds dense to me."

"Well" Draco muttered, "that's Potter in a nutshell. Dense."

"I'll take your word for it" Rachel answered easily. "More coffee?"

Draco shot a glance at the old cuckoo clock hanging on the wall, his mouth curving slightly in distaste. He had never grown to like to the boring, ugly excuses muggles used for real watches,  
but he had learned how to read them, and from the looks of this one, it was time for him to go home.

"I'm fine," he answered, rising up from his chair. "I'm sure you need to return to work anyway."

"This place isn't exactly overflowing with customers today" Rachel pointed out, gesturing out towards the empty shop. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed."

Draco hesitated. The prospect of returning to his empty apartment, to spend the remainder of the afternoon alone with just his own thoughts as company, didn't' seem very appealing.

"Unless you have other plans" Rachel added, somewhat smugly.

She had him there.

"Maybe just one more cup."

* * *

The clock was way past nine when Draco finally stepped over the threshold to his apartment, and he was out of breath from his brisk walk home. He knew he had probably overstayed his visit at the shop, and Rachel probably would have closed up a long time ago if not for his late departure, but on the other hand, she didn't appear to have minded. Something told Draco that she probably didn't have anything waiting for her at home either.

Or any_one_.

Draco had never had a problem with being alone before. He was raised to be independent - his father had always taught him that relying on other people to secure his well-being was a flaw. He had preferred to play alone as a child, and even though he had surrounded himself with Slytherin allies during school, he had always been careful to maintain his privacy. He always liked to make sure that other people were dependent on _him_, and not the other way around.

It was peculiar how all of that had changed so swiftly. He had just spent an entire evening in the company of a strange girl that he didn't particularly like, only because he did not want to be by himself. It was uncharacteristic.

Immediately, Potter came to mind - it was he who had changed that about Draco. Draco hated the hostility his empty apartment now presented to him and he hated how the rooms that before had seemed so small and cramped even with the lack of furniture now were uncomfortably spacious. And most of all, he hated Potter for making him feel that way.

He hated Potter for making him feel a lot of things.

He was still so full from all the coffee that Rachel had given him that he didn't bother to make dinner, but went straight for his bed. Trying to sleep was pointless due to the high amount caffeine rushing through his blood, which left him lying on his back in the bed, staring at the ceiling like so many times before.

He didn't want to admit it, but a small part of him had hoped that Potter would be there waiting for him with an explanation when he came home, but there was no sign of anyone being in the apartment while Draco had been gone. Everything was exactly the way he had left it. There had been no letter of explanation, not even a single little note or sign to prove Draco wrong in his previous assumption that Potter had royally screwed him over.

It would have been easy if Draco could have stayed angry forever, he could deal with that. Anger was simple. It would have been easy if he had been able to ignore the mulling ache in his chest. It would have been easy if he could just get the image of _Potter's bloody bare chest out of his head. _

But the initial anger had since long subsided into something more reminiscent of a memory. He couldn't ignore the fact that he felt more hurt than furious, and as it happened, he could not un-notice that Potter had a damn fine torso.

He had never had a problem with being alone before. Now, he could barely stand it.

* * *

The following days Draco kept going through the same repetitive pattern. He would wake up and make himself an uninspiring breakfast consisting of tea and cereal before leaving for Rachel's shop. He spent the better part of his day there, drinking free coffee and chatting with Rachel whenever she wasn't busy with her customers. He appreciated the fact that Rachel never questioned why he didn't find anything better to do with his time, and in spite of her general quirkiness, he realized that he started to like her. She never complained when Draco got caught up in one of his rants about how annoying Potter had been when they went to school together, and even though it was hard to constantly watch his words to not alert her to the fact that magic actually existed, he enjoyed talking to her. He even thought he might even learn to like her some day.

Every now and then, Rachel would give him some advice on how he should deal with the Potter-situation, which he promptly ignored. Partly because most of them seemed based on the assumption that Potter's no-show merely had been a consequence of some unfortunate misunderstanding, but also because the memory of what had happened the last time he had let Rachel influence his decisions. And then there was the fact that all of Rachel's ideas involved him actually _speaking_ to Potter again.

"What makes you think I even want anything to do with him?" Draco snapped irritably one of those times when Rachel had come with one of her unhelpful suggestions. "After what he did, I couldn't care less."

"Oh come on, Draco" Rachel interrupted. "You think about him all the time, it's so obvious. I just think that if you actually went to see him, he might…"

"I _do not_ think about him all the time" Draco snapped, and then, for good measure, he added: "And only my friends call me Draco."

Rachel just shrugged and moved on to another subject, but Draco knew she saw right through him. Figuring that his constant nagging about Potter probably was a dead giveaway, he decided not to ever mention him to Rachel again. As he did so, he hit a new low when he realized that he didn't have anything else to talk about.

"I think it's time for me to leave," he said dully. Rachel didn't object – in fact, she was already holding his coat, stretching it out for him to grab.

"Yeah, I figured" she said. "See you tomorrow, then."

It wasn't really a question, but Draco addressed it as such anyway.

"We'll see."

* * *

He did return the next day, of course, and the day after that. He didn't want Rachel to know how much he needed her company, but the option of staying at home alone was worse. In mid-December, he went back to the pub, and a reluctant but wary Mr. Barnes allowed him to get back to work a few nights a week. Mostly, he spent his days at Rachel's, and went straight for the pub in the afternoon.

He had cancelled his subscription of _The Prophet _– the dread he felt every morning when the paper arrived over seeing another headline about him and Potter was every bit as depressing as thinking about Potter. In many ways, he felt like in doing so, he had lost the only remaining connection to his old world, but it was more a relief than anything. The wizarding world had turned his back on him many years ago, and it had been stupid of him to hold on for so long.

The nights were the worst. He had asked Rachel to lend him some books, which kept his mind occupied during the evenings when he wasn't working, but eventually, he had to go to sleep. And when he did, he had no hope of controlling his dreams.

Potter made frequent, usually lightly dressed, appearances of course – more often than not, Draco would wake up sweaty with the sheets twisted around his legs and his body screaming for attention. The most painful thing about it wasn't the dreams, though– it was waking up and realizing it had never happened, and never would. Draco's new morning routine was usually an unpleasant cold shower before his usual bowl of cereal and tea. The alternative, to pleasure himself while still thinking about Potter, was never really an option – it would be the ultimate humiliation, to come undone to the image of Potter twisting and turning underneath him in his dreams. A part of him told him that dignity and pride could go to hell, that no one would ever have to know, but Draco ignored it. He couldn't control what he did in his dreams, but he _could_ control his actions while he was awake.

The days went by in a slow and uneventful pace. Draco wouldn't say that he was particularly enjoying his life, but it was manageable. Until one day during his second week back at work, just a few days before Christmas, when everything turned upside down. Again.

It all started with an unexpected visitor at the pub, much like when Potter had showed up so many weeks ago. It was a little past four, and Draco's shift had recently begun. He was wiping the tables clean in a leisurely pace when he heard the door open, which was rather unusual – the earliest customers normally didn't turn up until around six.

"Can I help you?" he asked as he turned around, almost freezing mid-spin when he saw the person standing in the doorway.

"Malfoy" the visitor said coolly, curling his lip as he swept a strand of blonde hair away from his eyes. "I'd say I was surprised to see you after all this time, but then again, I _did_ know you'd be here."

Draco had recognized him right away, even though they had merely been distantly aquatinted during their years at Hogwarts. Draco had never cared much for Hufflepuffs – especially not when they tried to copy his hairstyle.

"Smith" he replied, straightening his back to mimic the other man's haughty composure. His mind was spinning, trying to think of possible reasons why Smith could be there, but he was careful not to let the bewilderment show on his face. "To what do I owe this… pleasure?"

Smith took a step inside the pub, letting the door close behind him. His blue eyes gleamed as they met Draco's.

"Oh, I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Take a seat."

At first, Draco thought it a little insulting to be commanded to "take a seat" by a customer at the place where he worked, but he decided to ignore it. In spite of himself, he was curious about what Smith wanted, and when you wanted information, there was no use in behaving childish.

They both sat down at the nearest table opposite each other. Smith made a big deal out of smoothing out a few non-existent creases on the front of his tailored pants before speaking.

"I admit I was surprised when I realized you were going back to work" he said idly, and Draco found himself immediately annoyed by the way Smith seemed to draw out every syllable as he spoke. "Grew tired of leeching of Potter, did you?"

Draco felt as though someone had stabbed him with an ice-cold knife straight in the chest at the mention of Potter's name. Still, he kept his composure, refusing to drop Smith's gaze.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asked icily, ignoring the remark about Potter. "And why are you here?"

"Oh please" Smith sneered. "Like your location is some sort of secret? Although, I admit finding you would have taken much longer without Potter's Ministry connections."

Draco clenched his jaw. So Potter had used the Ministry to find Draco's location, and then told Smith about it? Why would he had done that?

"Did Potter tell you I was here?" he asked sharply. "And why would you care, anyway?"

Smith waved his hand dismissively.

"There are other ways to find out things than _asking_," he said. "But then again, you're a Slytherin, so you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

When Draco didn't answer, Smith rolled his eyes impatiently.

"I followed him. Potter's too gullible, you know. He didn't' even have enough sense to apparate here. He took the _subway_, like a common muggle."

Draco barely heard the scathing comments – he had stopped listening after the first words.

"Wait" he said slowly. "You followed him? The first time he was here?"

"The first" Smith agreed, and then, with a malicious grin, he added: "And the second."

It took a while for the realization to sink in. Smith had been there that same night when Potter had been so drunk that Draco practically had had to drag him home. The same night when…

"It was you. You took the photo of us and sent it to _The Prophet_."

Smith's grin widened.

"Well, if you want to draw that assumption, I'm not going to stop you" he said nonchalantly. "But you do make a…_ sweet_ couple. A shame that it's not going to last."

Draco's mind was running wild, erratically trying to fit the new pieces of the puzzle together. So Smith had been the one who had sold them out to the papers, but why had he done it? What issues did he have with Draco, or with Potter for that matter? Draco couldn't recall ever seeing the two of them interact much at Hogwarts, other than during their fifth year when Potter had been the leader of that secret army that wanted to overthrow the Ministry.

"Since you took that photo, you know that there never was anything going on between me and Potter" he said, frowning "So why are you here? Do you want some more information, so that you can milk this thing for even more money, or what?"

"Spare me" Smith snapped. "I'm not an idiot, I know what's going on between the two of you."

Draco glared at him.

"_Nothing_ is going on. And even if there was, what's it to you? It's not as though you have anything to do with anything concerned me _or_ Potter."

Smith flashed him a superior smile.

"He never told you," he said. It wasn't a question – it was a statement, one that seemed to please Smith immensely. "How interesting."

"Told me what?" Draco said irritably. There were many things Potter hadn't told him; this would just be a tiny addition to the already long list.

Smith smiled even wider and leaned forward, gesturing for Draco to come closer. He reluctantly did.

"Well, about me, of course" Smith said, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't say I'm surprised, though. Potter always had a way of leaving out the more unpleasant side of things."

Draco drew away. He still didn't understand what Smith meant. Was he the friend Potter had been visiting during all of those times he had been absent? It couldn't be – Potter and Smith had never been close.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he finally said.

Smith didn't answer immediately – he kept smiling, as if he had just won the lottery. Draco wanted to punch him until every single one of those blindingly white teeth feel out.

"Ask him" Smith answered eventually, and as he did so, he stood up. "Who knows, maybe he'll decide to tell you the truth before he grows tired of you. Which he eventually will, mind you. And  
then he'll throw you out like yesterday's trash. Just wait."

Draco stood up so violently that his chair almost tipped over. Smith drew a sharp breath, as if he realized that something dangerous was about to happen.  
_  
He'll grow tired of you. He'll throw you away like yesterday's trash._

Draco realized his hands where shaking, and before he knew it, he had lunged over the table and grabbed Smith by the shoulders. The power of the impact sent them both to the floor, Smith yelping helplessly and Draco with something resembling a snarl coming from the depth of his throat. He felt his fist connect with the side of Smith's mouth, and all of the anger, the hurt and the shame that had been building up inside of him the past weeks felt like they were unleashed all at once. He could feel Smith's fingers clawing at his neck as he the other man tried to free himself, but Draco punched him again, this time in the stomach. He could feel Smith fighting for his breath underneath him, and he raised his fist one more time to strike, but someone intercepted it from behind. He barely had time to register what happened before someone grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back, away from Smith.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Draco's heart sank as he heard the familiar voice from the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Mr. Barnes, his face red with shock and anger. Peters was the one that was holding Draco – the both of them had probably heard the noises from the cellar, and Peters must have lunged at them as soon as he had seen Draco attacking Smith.

"Get a grip of yourself, Malfoy!" he hissed in Draco's ear as his grip slackened. "What do you think you're playing at?"

Smith had gotten to his feet, his hair ruffled and with blood oozing out from a cut on his lip. He touched the gush warily, and glared scathingly not at Draco, but at Mr. Barnes.

"Do you generally let your employees attack your customers completely unprovoked like this?" he snarled accusingly. "I just came in for a soda, for crying out loud!"

"No, of course not!" Mr Barnes said, sounding appalled at the insinuation. "Forgive him, he is a bit unstable at the moment, there are some family issues… but there will be severe consequences for this, I assure you." He shot Draco a murderous glare that said _oh you are so going to pay for this_, but Draco barely registered. His ears were still ringing so loud he thought his head was going to explode.

A voice that wasn't quite his own spoke through his lips.

"Thank you Mr. Barnes, but that won't be necessary. I quit."

Then, he turned and fled.**

* * *

**

_Don't forget to let me know what you think :)_


	13. Under pressure

**Author's notes:** Finally, a quick update! I've practically been working with this chapter every night during this week, and while it was one of the hardest chapters to write yet, I still enjoyed it tremendously. Your feedback really kept me going, and I hope you'll continue to let me know what you think of this story and the way it develops. Now, here's chapter 12, I hope you'll like it :)

* * *

**Chapter 12 - Under pressure**

Rachel was about to close up the shop when Draco arrived – in fact, they practically collided with each other as Rachel was just about to change the "Open"-sign on the door when Draco stormed through it. Draco didn't apologize for almost knocking her over – instead, he pushed past her into the shop where he could throw himself into the armchair he had started to think of as his own. Staring down at his hands, he saw that they were still shaking, but he could barely feel it.

Rachel didn't say anything, which was a tremendous relief, because Draco didn't think he would be able to speak just yet. His mind was a tangled mess of different thoughts and emotions, all of them seemingly fighting for his undivided attention. He couldn't handle it.  
_  
Focus_.

Rachel was, unsurprisingly, making coffee – he couldn't see her, but he could hear the faint, grinding noise from the machine. The familiar sound was somewhat soothing, and he could feel himself relax a little.

He thought about what had happened. He thought about Smith, and the malicious gleam in his eyes as he said those words that had pushed Draco over the edge. And then he stopped thinking, because it was hard to breathe, like something in his chest was being ripped apart.

Then Rachel was there, not sitting opposite him like she usually did, but perched on the armrest of his chair with one hand around Draco's shoulders. They sat there for a while without saying anything, until Draco felt the need to point out the obvious.

"You're touching me."

"Yep" Rachel admitted. "I thought you could need it."

Silence settled again, and Rachel kept her arm around him for a short while, until the coffee machine fell silent, and she went to get their coffee. Draco hadn't realized how relaxing the closeness had been until she pulled away. When Rachel returned back, she sank down in her usual chair again.

"Tell me everything when you're ready" she said quietly, and after a few minutes of silent sipping of their respective cups, Draco did tell her. He started with telling her about work, about Mr Barnes and how he had lied about his mother, because she hadn't heard that story yet. That involved a more detailed version of the story of Potter's appearance, and why Draco had left in the first place – even though he was careful not to mention anything about _The Prophet_, or magic. Then he told her about going back, and how Smith had showed up, just like Potter had, completely out of the blue, and how it had changed everything again.

"I know I shouldn't allow myself to be provoked like that," he said in a low voice. "I rarely lose my composure like I did today, but the things he said… I don't know what came over me, it just… it was like I wasn't even aware of what I was doing. Like someone else took temporarily claim over my body, and the next thing I knew, Peters was dragging me away from him, and I was quitting my job." In a vain attempt to lighten the mood, he added, "Besides. He _stole_ my haircut. Not that he could pull it off."

Rachel was looking down at the contents of her cup thoughtfully.

"What _did_ he say?" she finally asked, and Draco's insides twisted painfully, although he had been expecting the question.

"He seemed to think that Potter and I were together" he answered, his throat dry. "And he warned me that Potter would grow tired of me, eventually. He said…. he said that he would throw me out like yesterday's trash."

Rachel's eyes snapped up to meet Draco's, but he looked away.

"Draco…" ´

"Except Potter already did that, didn't he?" Draco interrupted her, his voice shaking slightly now. He swallowed. "Potter grew tired of me weeks ago. He threw me away, like I wasn't even important, like I was _garbage_… and I can't even get the bloody picture of him out of my head. How pathetic is that? Do you know how much Smith would have laughed if he knew that I dream about Potter almost every single night? That I actually… that I, for some reason I can't even begin to understand, fell in love with him? That I constantly think about that stupid, meaningless kiss he gave me? And do you know how _disgusted_ Potter would be if he ever found out?"

He could feel Rachel looking at him, but he refused to meet her gaze. He knew she pitied him, and he couldn't stand to see his own pathetic weakness reflected in the depths of her silver irises.

"Draco" Rachel said very softly, when the silence after Draco's rant had started to become slightly awkward. "How thick are you?"

Draco forgot all about feeling sorry for himself and not looking at Rachel for a second, and gave her one of his most incredulous stares. She had the nerve to smile back at him.

"_Excuse me?_" he asked, more surprised than upset.

It was a rightful question. He had thought that Rachel was a good listener, but now, he began to understand that she was simply mental.

Rachel was unabashed, as always.

"Did you ever stop to think why Smith came to visit you in the first place?" she asked. "Did you really think he just decided to show up out of the blue to bug you for no reason?"

Draco glared at her.

"Well, of course I thought about it" he snapped. "But Smith's a malicious little bastard. I bet he thrives on seeing other people suffer."

"Maybe. But I'm willing to bet that he had his motives."

Draco snorted.

"Enlighten me."

"Well, first of all, it's obvious that Smith and Potter have some sort of relation to each other" Rachel said. "Judging from the way Smith acted, whatever happened between them, didn't end well, and considering how he's clearly jealous of you being together with Potter…"

"Weren't you listening? Potter and I are not together" Draco interrupted. "And what makes you think Smith's jealous, anyway? That's ridiculous."

"But Smith thinks you _are_ together, doesn't he?" Rachel said triumphantly. "He was so jealous about it that he came to your workplace and tried to scare you off. Come on, Draco, it makes sense – why else would he bother?"

"But _why _would he be jealous?"

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Well, that's obvious" she said smugly. "Smith's jealous because he's in love with Potter too. And judging from that crap about how Potter would throw you away like garbage, Potter probably broke up with him. Smith was talking about how he felt that he was treated."

Draco blinked slowly as he let the words sink in. Potter and Smith?

"That's…" _Stupid? Imbecilic? Insane?_

Possible?

"Potter's not even gay," he finally said. "He's always liked _girls_. He even married a woman."

"He also divorced her," Rachel pointed out. The fact that she knew that made Draco blush a little – it seemed like he had practically shared Potter's entire life story with Rachel.

"That doesn't prove anything," he said stubbornly.

"Neither does the fact that he's been into girls before."

Draco shook his head. It still didn't make sense.

"Well, let's say for argument's sake that you're right…"

"I am" Rachel said firmly. Draco ignored her.

"Say that Potter is gay, and that his lack of taste actually allowed him to have some sort of affair with Smith" he continued, wrinkling his nose slightly. "I still don't get why Smith would be jealous of _me_. He practically started that whole rumour about Potter and me, he knew that there wasn't anything going on between us."

"Yes, that mysterious rumour which got spread through that article in that paper you don't remember the name of" Rachel said doubtfully, and Draco started to think that his cover-up story hadn't been so brilliant after all.

"I think the name of the paper started with a 'P','" he said helpfully. Rachel snorted.

"Well, if Smith did start the rumours about the two of you, he wouldn't have been jealous." she admitted. "_Unless_ he knew something about Potter's feelings for you that you don't."

Draco flinched.

"Potter doesn't have any feelings for me," he said sharply. "No positive ones, at least."

"Maybe he does" Rachel persisted.

Draco couldn't really believe that he was hearing this. Potter had used, betrayed and humiliated him in every possible way, and Rachel knew that. Still, she was suggesting that, in spite of all that, Potter was… well, that Potter didn't hate him?

"Brilliant theory" he said coolly. "Except for one thing. You don't go around talking about your possible new romantic interests to the person you're currently dating, do you? If Potter had feelings for me, he wouldn't have told Smith. _If_ Smith were in fact his lover or whatever, which I still doubt, by the way."

Rachel's eyes twinkled and she smirked, like she knew something that Draco didn't.

"Sometimes, you don't have to say anything at all, and it's still obvious."

Draco felt himself blush a little. _Girls_.

"So, what you're saying is that Potter is, in fact, in love with me?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest, trying to make Rachel realize just how little sense she was making right now. She pursed her lips.

"I'm just saying I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding," she said. "Maybe you should talk to him."

Draco slammed his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to listen to this anymore.

"Misunderstanding, was it, when Potter kissed me and then went back to his precious friends, like I never existed? When he stood me up? When I waited for hours, even _days,_ for him to come up with some sort of explanation? How are you not getting this, Rachel? Potter _hates_ me, and he's made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want anything to do with me. If you think I'm going to humiliate myself even further by going after him again, you're delusional."

Rachel leaned forward and tried to take his hand, which was resting on the table, but Draco pulled quickly away. She sighed, and leaned back in her chair again.

"I get it, Draco, I really do" she said, her voice softer again. "But what if you're wrong? Wouldn't it be worth it to try…"

"No." Draco said sharply. "It wouldn't be."

Rachel sighed again, resignedly this time. She knew the argument was over.

"Fine." she said. "I understand that you don't want to do it. But for what it's worth, if I'm right… I think that _he_ will come to _you_."

"Don't hold your breath" Draco said dully.

"I won't" Rachel said solemnly, glancing at her watch. "Listen, I've really got to get home, it's quite late. The shop will be closed the next few days, I'm going away to celebrate the holidays with my family outside of town. Will you be alright?"

Draco stood up quickly.

"Of course I will," he said, ignoring how hollow his voice sounded. "Why wouldn't I?"

Rachel didn't answer, and they left the shop together. Well outside, Draco didn't really know what to say – it would be weird, not seeing her for several days, when he had spent almost every single day the past few weeks in her company.

"Maybe I could call you when I get back?" Rachel said finally, her voice a little hesitant. "I mean, if you want to."

"I don't have a phone," Draco said, and for the first time, he thought that he might actually need one. "But… you could come over, if you like. Do you have any parchment… I mean, paper?"

Rachel rummaged through the pockets of her waistcoat and drew out a crumpled piece of paper and a bitten down pencil. Draco printed down his address, and gave it back to her.

"I'll probably be home around the 27:th," she said. "See you then."

"Yeah, see you" Draco echoed, and then they both turned around at the same time, and left in opposite directions.

* * *

Draco walked home in a slow pace. He wasn't in a hurry. It was snowing – fluffy, soft flakes were sailing down from the sky, clinging to his hair and his eyelashes. It was perfect, Draco thought dully – the years first snowfall, just in time for Christmas. A few years ago, he would have been happy about it. He had loved snow for as long as he could remember, although he had mostly enjoyed it from a distance. He had always found something very reassuring about watching the snow fall from his bedroom window at the Manor when he was little. He had always been fascinated about how the flakes covered the grounds, making them look like a massive, bright white duvet. He liked it best that way, when it was untouched, flawless. He never made snow angels like he knew other children did – it felt like such a shame to ruin it.

Now, the snow didn't reassure him at all. It was just _there_, a thing like everything else around him that he really didn't care about. Apart from the fact that it was messing up his hair.

He didn't know what the time was when he arrived home. All he knew was that he was tired, that he wanted to go to bed and not think about Rachel's speculations at all.

The fact that Potter was waiting for him outside of his building made that next to impossible.

Draco spotted him before the other man had the chance to see him, and reasonably enough, he froze on the spot. Potter was sitting down, like he had been waiting for a while and was tired of standing. He was wearing a thick, dark coat, not completely unlike the one Draco himself was sporting, and he had his knees drawn up to his chest with his chin resting slightly on them. His unruly hair was glittering with snowflakes, and his gaze was fixed at something in the distant, like he was lost in thought. Draco slapped himself mentally when he thought of him has nice-looking. That was not helping. Neither was Rachel's word that suddenly had decided to pop up in his head. _If I'm right, I think that _he_ will come to _you._  
_  
Draco blinked hard, half-convinced that he was hallucinating, but Potter didn't disappear, and soon, he would probably turn his head and spot Draco, and… then what? What could he possibly want? Why was he there?

Maybe he would go away if Draco didn't show up. If Draco took a few extra laps around the block, Potter would surely be gone by the time he came back? That was probably a good idea. Draco didn't want to face Potter right now. Not _ever_, in fact.

He had made up his mind and was just about to sneak away, when Potter turned his head and spotted him. The distance was too big for Draco to get a good look on Potter's expression, but the other man stood up immediately, and started to walk towards him. He thought about running away, or apparating, but Potter was probably faster than he was, and he had left his wand on the kitchen table before going to work. Besides, he hadn't apparated in years. He would probably splinch himself.

"Malfoy," Potter said, and Draco was snapped out of his thoughts of finding a possible escape route. Potter had closed the distance between them now, and running away was even more pointless. Before Draco could say anything, Potter added, "are you alright?"

Draco's eyes snapped up to meet Potter's, and a sudden burst of rage surged through his chest. Like Potter cared if he was all right. Like he had _ever _cared.

"Peachy." he said coolly, before breaking eye contact with Potter, pushing past him on the way to the door. "Now, leave me the hell alone."

He could sense Potter reaching out for him before he felt a hand closing around his arm. Instinctively, he tried to pull away, but Potter's grip was like a vice.

"_Don't touch me!" _Draco snapped, and he hated the panicky edge in his voice, but it did the trick. Potter blushed, and quickly let go.

"Sorry." he said. "I just… please, could we talk?"

Potter's expression was one that Draco had never seen on his face before. It was hard to pinpoint it, but he was biting down hard on his lip, and Draco thought for a second that maybe he _did_ want to talk, if _he_ could be the one biting down on Potter's lip for just one second.

He clenched his jaw. Still not helping.

"No." he said finally. "You had your chance to talk to me, Potter. It didn't seem as important to you then."

But he didn't leave. It was as if something had rooted him to the spot, like some invisible force was preventing him from moving any further away from Potter. He was obviously going mad.

"Please." Potter said again, his voice urgent. "Smith came over and told me what happened, and after that article in _The Prophet_ this morning… Malfoy, I feel awful, I never…"

Draco felt something cold that didn't have anything to do with the weather coil inside his chest.

"Your boyfriend told he everything, did he?" he snapped, even though he was not sure why. He hadn't believed Rachel's theory about that, had he? "I'm glad he enlightened you, Potter. Could you give him a message for me? One that's applicable to the both of you, I might add – _stay the hell away from me."_

Potter blushed again.

"He's not… that's not important. I doubt he would listen to anything I have to say, anyway. I sort of gave him a black eye."

Draco opened his mouth to snap something back, but then the words had time to sink in.

"Nice job." he finally breathed, and Potter smiled ruefully.

"It felt like the right thing to do." he said. "So, are we going in or what? I'm freezing."

"I don't really care about your physical health, Potter." Draco said, even though he was starting to feel the chill as well. "If you've got something to say, say it here. You have two minutes."

"Two minutes?" Potter said, frowning. "Malfoy, that's not enough time, I have…"

"One minute and forty-five seconds."

Potter growled.

"Fine," he huffed, drawing a sharp breath. "Malfoy, I'm really sorry about not showing up that day, I've been thinking about it ever since. It was stupid and selfish of me, I know that, and I know I owed you an explanation but I couldn't, it was just too… I had no idea what I was going to say, or how I was going to explain it without freaking you out again. So I did the easy thing, and I didn't say anything at all. I know I was being a coward, and I know that you hate me and that you never want to see me again, but I _miss you_, you stupid prat, and I need to tell you that… how am I doing with the time?"

Potter had been talking fast, and now he was trying to catch his breath, a bewildered look on his face.

"I don't know, I wasn't really counting." Draco admitted, feeling rather breathless himself. He closed his eyes, trying to snap out of it.  
_  
He used you. He's been lying to you before. Why should you trust him?_

But the thought of Potter ever _missing_ him was just too delicious for him to brush of that quickly. It was pathetic, but Draco couldn't help himself.

Potter looked at him with an exhausted expression.

"Please, can we just go inside?" he pleaded. "I owe you a proper explanation."

Well, that much was true.

"You do." Draco said. "And I guess I _am_ curious about that article you mentioned." When Potter gave him a funny look, he added, "I cancelled my subscription a few weeks ago. One of the finer decisions I've made lately."

He went for the door, and didn't protest when Potter followed him.

"You haven't read it, then?" Potter said, and he sounded relieved. "Well, you're better off. It was a load of rubbish, anyway…"

"Of course it was a load of rubbish." Draco snorted as they climbed the stairs up towards his apartment. "It was Robbins who wrote it, wasn't it? But you're still going to tell me everything about it. Let me guess… something about me forcing some sort of love potion down your throat, forcing you to be my sex slave? That'd be a good one."

He couldn't believe how casual this felt, and he clenched his jaw. He couldn't allow himself to forget what Potter had done.

"Not really." Potter answered. "You're actually not the villain in this story - I am. Apparently, I dumped you, and you were heartbroken about it. A real sob story."

Draco felt himself stiffen.

"Indeed." he hissed.

"Yeah," Potter said, and even though Draco couldn't see it, he could hear the discomfort in his voice when he added, "I thought you might not like that."

They didn't say anything else until they were inside the apartment, both seated opposite each other at the kitchen table. Draco realized he had kept the chair that Potter had conjured that first morning around. How odd that he hadn't noticed that before.

"So… you missed me." he said, when Potter had opened his mouth to begin the conversation and closed it again too many times. "That's… interesting."

Potter bit his lip.

"I did," he answered. "Malfoy, first of all, I want you to know that I am so sorry about… about the kiss…"

Draco's stomach made a little jolt.

"… I know that I was pushing it too far, that you never wanted me to do that. But I want you to know that I will _never_ cross that line again. I know you don't feel that way about me, and that what I did was wrong… did I mention that I was sorry?"

"You did." Draco said, frowning a little, his pulse quickening a little as he realized he was about to ask the one question he hadn't been able to stop thinking about, but also the one question he didn't know if he wanted answered. "I'm still confused as to why you did it in the first place though. I realize you wanted to get rid of me, but there were lots of other, less… _unpleasant_ options for you to choose from, wasn't there?" He realized he was practically quoiting Rachel. Damn her.

Potter looked completely nonplussed.

"Get rid of you?" he repeated, distractedly running his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. "Malfoy, did you really think that was what it was all about?" When Draco just shrugged non-commitedly in return, Potter sighed. "Merlin, you just don't…"

"… get it, do I?" Draco finished the sentence for him in a dry voice. "Yeah. You mentioned that back then, I believe. I'd appreciate it if you would stop trying to point out how dense I am. It wasn't really as though you were there to explain it to me, was it?"

Potter looked a little embarrassed.

"Sorry."

"You're repeating yourself." Draco pointed out, although there was no real edge to his words. "Care to explain to me where my theory fails, then?"

Potter blushed, yet again. Draco, unfortunately, started to think that that red tinge on his cheeks suited him quite nicely. He forced himself to look away.

"Malfoy, I…" Potter begun, but he seemed to have trouble finding the right words. Draco wasn't surprised – eloquence had never been Potter's strong suite after all.

"I don't have all night."

Potter groaned.

"Fine," he said, a familiar sort of determination to his voice – the kind that said he was about to throw himself recklessly into a potentially dangerous situation. "Seriously, Malfoy, why do you think people usually kiss each other? I wanted to. I… wanted _you_, in fact."

Draco opened his mouth to answer. Then he closed it again. He chanced a glance at Potter, but he was looking firmly away, biting down on his lip so hard it was bound to leave a mark.

"Excuse me, _what_?" was all Draco was able to say after what seemed like an eternity of silence. He must have misheard. There was no way Potter had just…

"I kissed you because I wanted to." Potter's voice was defiant now, almost daring Draco to question him again. He was looking back at Draco now too, his eyes filled with that same determination Draco had heard in his voice earlier.

"You wanted me." Draco repeated, mostly to himself as his mind was trying to grasp this new information. And before he could stop himself, his treacherous lips blurted out, "Do you still... _want me_?"

The words were unfamiliar on his lips, and he could feel himself blush as he said them. Fortunately, Potter didn't seem to notice – he was looking away again, rubbing his temple wearily.

"Yes" he answered roughly, and Draco involuntarily drew a sharp breath, before Potter added, "But it doesn't have to mean anything, Malfoy. I would never do it again, I told you, I just felt like I needed to explain it. Could we please just forget about it?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, although he didn't now whether he was about to agree that they should never speak about it again, or if he would argue, because the thought of Potter never kissing him again was just simply ridiculous. A nervous, slightly aching feeling in his gut stopped him though, and it took him a while to figure out what was wrong.

Then it hit him – Potter was lying to him. Again. Maybe his initial intentions hadn't been the ones Draco had suspected, but Potter was telling him the things he thought would freak Draco out the most yet again. Draco no longer thought that Potter was trying to get rid of him, but he was definitely lying to cover something up. And Draco was fed up with it. He wanted the truth.

A plan was starting to take form in his head, and before he could second-guess himself, before the more sensible part of his brain could tell him that it was a horrible idea, he stood up. Potter looked up at him, clearly confused, but Draco promptly reached for his hand an dragged him up too.

"Malfoy, what are you…" Potter begun, but Draco held up one hand to silence him. They were standing opposite each other, a few feet apart, and Potter was looking at Draco like he was going insane. Which, in all honesty, he probably was.

"You want me?" he asked, locking eyes with Potter. "Well… prove it."

Potter's eyes widened slightly. When Draco looked more closely, he could, indeed, see that there was a faint mark on his lower lip where his teeth had sunk in earlier.

"I… you… _what_?" Potter spluttered, clearly bewildered by Draco's odd behaviour. Draco rolled his eyes, and took a step closer to Potter. He could see the other man stiffen visibly.

"I'm done with you hiding things from me, Potter," he said, his voice a little rougher than he would have liked. He edged even closer. "You say you want me, but I don't believe you. If it's true – prove it. Kiss me again."

Potter gasped, probably in shock, and it took Draco all his willpower to not pull away. It wasn't one of his more elegant plans, but it would force Potter to show his true colours. It was simple, like a game of chicken - one that Draco had every intention of winning. Potter was bound to pull away first, and then Draco would be sure that he was lying. He tried to ignore the part of him that hoped that Potter _wouldn'_t draw back.

Potter didn't look scared, though. On the other hand, he looked almost angry.

"Very funny, Malfoy" he snapped, but Draco noticed that he didn't move away. "Is this some kind of test, to see if I'd break my word and force myself on you again? Because I won't."  
Draco ignored him, drawing even closer. They were inches apart now, so close that Draco could feel Potter's warm breath tickle his chin.

"Scared, Potter?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. It was both painful and exhilarating being this close to Potter, knowing how easy it would be to just reach out and touch him, how it would only take one single, small step to close the distance between their lips.

"You wish" Potter mumbled, but he was biting his lips again, and Draco knew that Potter was just as nervous as he was. The flaw of the plan was quickly starting to catch up with him – he had no idea what he was doing.

"Last chance," Draco said, licking his lips, edging just a fraction closer. The tips of their noses were almost touching now.

Potter swallowed.

"I'm not going to do it," he declared, although his voice was wavering a little. He would probably pull away at any second.

"Coward" Draco said softly, and then he thought to hell with pride, and dignity, and _bloody self-control. _If he was only ever going to get one chance at this, he would be an idiot not to take it. With one last step, he closed the distance between them, hesitantly pressing his own lips against Potter's.

Potter made a surprised little sound against Draco's mouth, but his lips remained unresponsive, and for a second, Draco thought that he had been right, that Potter really had been lying to him, and although he had expected, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded him that it still hurt. But then, Potter's lips parted ever so slightly, his tongue flicking lightly across Draco's lower lip, and it felt so inexplicably _right_. Draco tilted his head slightly to the right, experimentally letting the tip of his tongue slide over Potter's, and the marvellous little sound escaping from the back of Potter's throat let him know that he did just the right thing.

They pulled apart simultaneously, both struggling to catch their breath. Looking at Potter suddenly seemed out of the question – instead, Draco focused on the regular rising and sinking of Potter's chest. Then he felt something graze his cheek, and he realized that Potter was touching him, his thumb grazing the line of Draco's jaw, the soft caress sending a shiver through his entire body.  
He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Potter's, their breaths and scents mingling in a delicious mess. Potter's hand had seized its exploration of Draco's jaw, and was now resting awkwardly somewhere between Draco's shoulder and neck, as if he wanted to draw Draco closer, but didn't quite dare. Draco decided to make things easier for him, firmly grabbing the nape of Potter's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. It was sloppier this time, more urgent – more like in Draco's dreams, with Potter's mouth hot and desperate underneath his own, hands travelling over each others bodies at lightning speed. Draco stumbled slightly as Potter pushed him up against the wall, struggling a little to regain control before eventually giving up. He found out that he didn't really mind being pinned to a wall by Potter, especially not given how brilliant Potter's thigh felt as it pushed against Draco's all too neglected crotch.

"Malfoy…" Potter breathed against Draco's cheek, and Draco took this opportunity to let his hand escape under Potter's shirt, his fingers sweeping across the flat abdomen, nails digging in to the firm skin as Potter did something glorious with his tongue against Draco's neck.

"Too many clothes" Draco managed, his voice deeper than he ever remembered it, and in an assembled effort, they succeeded in dragging Potter's sweater over his head. This left his glasses askew, but Draco managed to solve that problem by unceremoniously throwing them away in the corner – they could always _Reparo_ them later.

"Bed?" Potter asked, his voice slightly muffled by the small kisses and bites Draco was placing on his jaw.

"You assume too much" Draco retorted, but he allowed Potter to drag him towards the bedroom anyway, kissing and groping each other as much as possible along the way. They fell down on the bed in a mess of entangled limbs, Potter half-naked and Draco still with his shirt on, although most of the buttons were already undone. They both fought for control for a few seconds before Draco gave up, once again letting Potter pin him down. It turned out to be a damn good decision, because Potter practically ripped away the remaining buttons on Draco's shirt and started doing unspeakable things with his mouth to Draco's stomach, and Draco didn't even feel embarrassed as a faint moan slipped past his lips. He was about to protest as the pressure of Potter's lips disappeared, but suddenly, he felt warm, hesitant fingertips graze his hip bone, and then, Potter _undid his pants_, and things turned a whole new level of unrealistic. Draco managed to sit up just as Potter's hand moved down to his inner thigh, sending a savage jolt of electricity straight to Draco's groin. He gasped involuntarily, desperately reaching out for the button of Potter's jeans, thinking that there was _no way_ he was going to just lie there and do nothing while Potter touched him in all kinds of inappropriate places. His fingers were fumbling, but he finally got the button undone, hesitating for just a second before he realized that he was too far in to back down now. His hand slipped under the elastic band of Potter's boxes, and before he could stop himself, before he could think, his fingers closed around the warm hardness that was _Harry bloody Potter's_ cock. Potter's eyes widened, his whole body cringing, and Draco thought that he must have either done something terribly wrong, or that he was a natural at being gay. Experimentally, he moved his hand slightly upwards, and Potter's eyes slammed shut, his nails digging in to Draco's thigh.

"Oh, _God_" he gasped as Draco moved his hand again, a little rougher this time.

"My name's Draco" he replied smugly, not sure where this new bravery came from. He didn't have time to think about it either, because Potter flung one arm around Draco's neck, pulling him in for another kiss, and Draco promptly forgot about everything else. Or at least he _did_, until Potter's hand slid in under his boxers, grabbing a firm hold of Draco's previously forgotten erection, and a million of new thoughts and sensations grabbed a hold of his mind. He struggled to slide his pants down further on his thighs as Potter did the same, giving Draco more room to do whatever it was that he was doing ('jerking off' came to mind, but he'd rather not think about that right now) to Potter. He could feel Potter's free hand reach out for his hair, and he leaned in to the touch, tilting his head slightly backwards, giving Potter a perfect opportunity to start to place wet, magnificent kisses on Draco's exposed neck. That, in combination with Potter's firm, rapid strokes to his cock was slowly pushing Draco over the edge, and he started to move his own hand faster, hoping that whatever he was doing was good enough. Potter's breath hitched, tickling Draco's skin in a deliciously tantalizing way, and he could feel that familiar tingle in his spine. With a soft moan he came over Potter's hand, the escalating, glorious sensation slowly ebbing away, and after a short while, Potter followed, hot liquid spurting over Draco's fingers and stomach. Potter's head was leaning on Draco's shoulder, his breath still tickling Draco's collarbone, and before Draco could stop himself, he placed his lips to Potter's hair, inhaling the delicious, slightly citrusy scent. They sat like that for a while without saying anything before Potter finally reached out for his wand that was sticking out of the pocket of the jeans that he was still half-wearing, casting a silent cleaning spell on the both of them. When he was done he looked up straight at Draco, his eyes wide and dark, completely unguarded. _Beautiful_, Draco found himself thinking.

"Can I stay?" Potter's voice was low and hoarse, and Draco swallowed hard, trying to avoid looking at Potter's lips.

"Yes" he heard himself answer before he even had time to think about it, and before he could say anything else, Potter kissed him. It was simple, just lips locking on lips for a few, short seconds, but it was still enough to make Draco shiver. They didn't say anything else as they both slid out of their paints and in under the covers, because at the moment, there really wasn't anything that needed to be said. Potter slid his arm around Draco's waist, and Draco allowed Potter to pull him closer, resting his head on Potter's chest. He faintly remembered Potter draping the duvet more securely around them before he started to drift off.

For once, he slept the whole night without dreaming a single dream about Potter.


End file.
